The Word Changers

by Ashlee Willis

  The lady centaur led Posy to another tent, small and plain. It had a large washbasin full of warm clear water resting on a stand, with towels and clothing neatly folded on the floor.

  “Thank you,” breathed Posy as Caris smiled and disappeared behind the tent flap to await her outside.

  The spring night sent a chill-fingered breeze through the small tent, so Posy washed quickly. The warm water felt blissful on her grimy skin. When she had finished cleaning her body, she poured the basin of water straight over her head, running her fingers through her tangled hair and scrubbing at her scalp. She looked around the small tent hopefully for a comb, but didn’t see one. She ran her fingers through her tangle of curls until she felt it was presentable. After she was dry, she got dressed quickly. The clothing was odd, but it fit her well enough. A sort of robed dress that hung loosely down to her shins, with a cloth belt to wrap around her waist. Posy pulled it on quickly, stuck her feet back into her boots, and stepped outside of the tent.

  Caris was there. “Someone will take your dress and clean it. I am sorry we can offer no better clothing than this,” she gestured toward Posy’s robe, “but as you can see, we have no need for such things.” Indeed, none of them needed anything but shirts. The male centaurs had only had their armor on, and Caris wore a soft shirt made of animal skin, serviceable and plain.

  Posy shook her head. It didn’t matter. She looked around the camp, trying to spot Kyran amidst the dots of firelight shining through the now darkened forest. Caris stood before her, unmoving, and Posy realized she was being rude. She smiled at Caris.

  “Thank you so much for the clothing, the food ... everything. You said ... I believe you said you are Faxon’s wife?”

  “Yes,” Caris nodded.

  “Do the other centaurs take their wives with them to battles?”

  “Faxon has not brought me here,” said Caris with a small smile. “All of us live here. The centaurs are now guardians of the glade. We protect the entrance to the Glooming from those who should not enter. It is the task the Author has given us now we are no longer part of the Kingdom’s Plot.”

  “How do you know what the Author wishes you to do?” asked Posy curiously. “Maybe it was never the purpose of the Author that you left the Kingdom to begin with—maybe you should rightfully still be there.”

  Caris’ jaw tightened, and she shook her head vehemently. “Nothing is by chance, young one,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “If we were to ever think we were not in the place the Author would have us be—if we were to ever lose faith that he is the one writing the story and not us—we would be lost. How could it be otherwise?”

  They had come to the entrance of the Summit Tent. Caris turned her hazel eyes searchingly onto Posy’s face, and Posy felt as if they saw all the way into her, to the depths of her soul. “There may be great decisions made today, now that you and the prince are here,” she said quietly. Then she said, taking Posy by the arm, “We must join the council, for they are ready to begin.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Friends and Allies

  Upon entering the Summit Tent, Posy found herself in a extremely intimidating situation. Before each unfurled banner along the edges of the long chamber stood a centaur, straight-backed and attentive. Faxon stood before the wide banner at the head of the room, his shoulders thrown back and his face set grimly, as if this were a task he would rather not undertake. When Posy and Caris entered the flap of the tent, Caris immediately went to her designated place in front of one of the banners amidst the other centaurs of the council. Posy was left standing alone.

  Faxon nodded his head at her and motioned a hand to summon her forward. Posy swallowed and began walking the length of the room, centaur eyes upon her from every direction. She spotted Kyran at the head of the chamber already, standing at the foot of the platform on which Faxon stood. When she went to stand next to him and gave him a small smile of greeting, Kyran merely blinked and turned to focus his attention on Faxon without a word. So, not forgiven, Posy thought with a sinking feeling.

  “Centaurs of the council and guardians of the glade,” began Faxon, his voice resonating throughout the tent. “We have convened here today for various reasons, and to come to certain crucial decisions. Firstly, we have here among us two characters from the Kingdom which was once our home. They have broken with King Melanthius and are seeking the princess Evanthe, who, as we know, has entered the Glooming.”

  Posy noticed most of the council nodded in understanding. Apparently, none of this was new information to them.

  “We must decide whether or not to allow these two entrance into the Glooming as well,” continued Faxon. “Do any wish to oppose this?”

  A tall centaur with long white hair and a short-clipped beard cleared his throat. Posy recognized him as the one Faxon had sent to fetch them from their hiding place in the glade. “Yes, Stonus?” Faxon asked.

  “We have no reason to trust these two,” the older centaur stated baldly. Posy felt as if her heart dropped into her stomach. She had not bargained on opposition from the centaurs. She waited for Faxon to assure the other centaurs that he trusted them, but he only nodded at Stonus’ words, saying nothing to refute them.

  A soft lilting voice rose above the murmuring of the council, one Posy recognized at once. Caris said, “You will excuse me, Stonus, but I see no greater proof—that these children are with us rather than against us—than in the fact that they have defied King Melanthius himself and ventured into the Wild Land at great risk to themselves.”

  “That is no proof,” Stonus said, shaking his head. “Many people may have many reasons for defying the king. It does not mean their reasons are the same as ours, or that they are with us.”

  “Perhaps,” said Caris, “we should let the children speak for themselves.”

  Thirteen centaur heads turned to look at Kyran and Posy. Posy shifted uneasily and hoped Kyran had something prepared to say; she certainly didn’t.

  “Friends,” said Kyran, turning to face the length of the chamber. “King Melanthius is my father, but he is now also my mortal enemy.” An almost indistinguishable intake of breath could be heard throughout the chamber at these strong words, but only Posy knew what they had cost Kyran to speak. He continued, “I have watched for years as the Plot has changed, worsened, and as the king and his councilors have sought more power for themselves, and have been less and less understanding toward the common characters. My sister, the princess Evanthe, saw it long before I did, I am ashamed to say. I have recently learned that the king himself changed the Plot to include the sacrifice of my innocent sister, in order that more readers would come, and thus secure his place as ruler. After learning of this evil, no one with any honesty or integrity would be able to ally themselves with the king. Indeed, I have not only broken from him, but am intending to lead a revolt against him.”

  Now the murmurs grew louder, and a few centaurs even spoke aloud, shaking their heads angrily, though Posy couldn’t hear what they said. Faxon held up a hand for silence. He turned to Kyran and said, “In what way do you intend to revolt against your father, young Prince?”

  Kyran’s dark eyes ran the length of the chamber, meeting the troubled eyes of each creature there before he swallowed and answered, “I have a friend who is even now working in my name to recruit soldiers and characters and form an army that will march on the Kingdom as soon as it is possible.”

  Stonus’ deep voice came across the room. “It is wrong,” he said simply.

  Kyran’s face changed, and Posy thought his expression was much the same as it was when she had first met him. It held aloofness and pride. “And what right have you to say that to me? A prince of the Kingdom who has lived in it and seen the injustice there?”

  “Every right,” said Stonus calmly. “You forget it was not long ago that we centaurs counseled the king and lived within the Kingdom ourselves. The Author himself put us there in the beginning, for that is where we belonged, though since that
time, we have been driven out by less pure forces.”

  “The Author?” Posy burst out suddenly, and she felt her heart leap. She hadn’t intended to speak—but she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Yes,” said Stonus.

  She felt everyone in the room looking at her, and she could feel her face growing pink, but there was no going back now. “How do you know what the Author intended?” she asked boldly.

  It was Caris who answered. “Because,” she said gently, “he speaks to us.”

  Centaurs around the room nodded, their expressions softened, in response to her words.

  Faxon said, “King Melanthius and the Council of Owls would have the characters believe that the Plot is unchanging, while they themselves change it to their own liking. This is how they keep power, by the ignorance of the characters. The Council of Centaurs, when we reigned in the Kingdom, knew the Plot changed. We knew that the characters had a right to make their own choices and form their own individual stories, as long as the Author would allow it. Only the Author has the true right to govern the larger Plot, and move the characters within it.”

  “Many of the characters of my Kingdom say that the Author has abandoned us,” stated Kyran, as if daring someone to disagree with him.

  But Faxon only nodded and said, “In a way he has, although in truth, it is much more the other way around. The Kingdom has abandoned the Author; therefore, the Author has abandoned the Kingdom.”

  “What a life to have,” Caris said almost as if to herself, “to be a character, but not to have the strength or openness of mind to look up and beyond yourself, and see that you are not your own Author. What misery that must bring! To think that a weak king writes the words to your life.”

  “But that is what I am trying to do,” said Kyran suddenly. “I lacked the strength for a long time, but now my eyes are open. I wish to bring about vast changes, to overthrow the evil in the Kingdom and replace it with what the Author intended.”

  “It is not as simple as that.” Stonus shook his head sadly.

  “It may not be,” said Kyran stubbornly, “but it has got to be better than skulking in the forest of the Wild Land and doing nothing.” This was obviously meant as a jibe at the centaurs, but they were too wise to rise to the bait. Faxon merely turned his piercing blue eyes on Kyran and looked at him intently for several moments before turning to the rest of the centaurs and saying, “It is not the way of the centaurs, violence and war. But as you know, we have had to change like everyone else over the decades. We have had to learn the art of battles and warfare, in defense of our own lives.”

  “And if it serves the greater good, we should fight alongside the prince,” called out one of the other centaurs.

  “Perhaps,” was all Faxon said. “We shall see. You know our numbers are diminished since we came to the Wild Land. Our fellow centaurs who have fallen in battle do not come back to us as they did within the Plot, and if we join this war we will lose even more.”

  Posy felt as if ice was trickling down her spine. She looked at Kyran and saw his eyes widen with the import of Faxon’s words.

  “Do you mean,” Kyran said slowly, “that outside of the Plot, characters may die, and not return?”

  “Yes, Prince,” nodded Faxon, his eyes solemn. “It is not as it is within the Kingdom. Sacrifices may be made there, deaths may be written, but none of it is final—none of it is real.”

  Kyran remained speechless, but Posy could see the thoughts flitting across his face, the doubt and fear, and finally, realization.

  Faxon continued. “The council will have to meet at another time to decide about the war of the Kingdom, and our place in it.” He turned to face the centaurs lining the chamber. “Now we must decide whether to let these two into the Glooming. Let me state, before we decide, that I believe that the prince and this young woman have the purest intentions for entering the Glooming, and that they possess the strength to navigate it safely. Now, let us decide.”

  Posy waited, holding her breath as each centaur down the long chamber gave his or her answer. All were in favor of letting them enter the Glooming. And so it was decided. She supposed it should have felt like a great relief, but instead she just felt dread.

  * * *

  “In what way does the Author speak to you?” Posy and Caris were walking together on the outskirts of the encampment after the meeting. They had only an hour until midnight, when she and Kyran would enter the Glooming. Torches and campfires glowed all around the camp, sending long shadows dancing across the ground at their feet.

  “He has written me,” answered Caris simply. “He not only knows me, he created who I am, and in everything I do and feel, I see him and hear him.” She shook her head, making her auburn curls quiver. “This war between the Kingdom and the Wild Land—it is not just about the power between characters. It is so much more. But most do not see it.”

  “You mean it is about the Author,” stated Posy.

  “Yes,” said Caris. “The king, Falak, even your young prince—none of them realize that even if one of them wins over the other, it matters little if the Author is not behind them. None of it will last if he is not the one invited to have power over them.”

  “In my world,” said Posy, “authors write stories, and the characters do whatever the author tells them. It’s not like this—the characters don’t have minds and lives of their own.”

  “How do you know this?” was Caris’ surprising reply. The corner of her mouth turned up in a playful smile. “You do not see the characters when the pages of the book are shut. Is there never a time when you read a book for the second time and you notice something that you didn’t remember from the first time? Or hear a story told, and every time it is told it grows and changes in the telling? Change is the nature of everything.” Caris’ face suddenly grew solemn, and she stopped to turn and look into Posy’s face. “You must know,” she said quietly, as if she thought they would be overheard, “that the Glooming is a dangerous place.”

  Posy’s heart leapt, but she nodded. “I know.”

  “It does not appear to be perilous,” Caris went on. “And in that lies its greatest danger. It will appear to be a friendly, beautiful, even joyous place—but you must not be blinded by this. I only hope you find what you are seeking.”

  “You mean the princess?” asked Posy. “I hope so, too. Kyran is certain she’s there.”

  Caris hesitated a moment before replying quietly, “Yes.”

  They both turned, hearing a great commotion from the encampment. A young centaur came galloping toward them and shouted out one word before he turned, his hooves throwing up a small cloud of dust, and rushed back in the other direction: “Attack!”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Into the Glooming

  Kyran and Faxon had received the same warning only moments before Posy and Caris. They had immediately sprung into action, preparing for battle. Faxon had turned to the prince for a single moment after they had been warned of the attack, and had said, “They know you are here.” Kyran had no time to ask who Faxon spoke of—no time to even wonder. He drew his sword and rushed to follow Faxon back into the center of the encampment, where the other centaurs were gathering already in vast numbers.

  “Soldiers!” cried Faxon, his voice rising above the din of voices and clanging armor. “Form ranks and prepare to fight.” He gestured with his sword toward where Posy and Kyran now stood together. “These two must be kept safe at all costs; they must not be kept from entering the Glooming when it opens. Who will protect them?”

  “I will protect them,” a voice rang out, and Stonus stepped forward from the crowd of centaurs. Faxon clasped his shoulder and looked into his eyes, nodding. “I will trust you, my friend,” was all he said. He turned to Posy and Kyran. A sad smile flickered in his crystal blue eyes. “Stonus will guard your lives with his own. Trust the Author. Listen closely for the true story, the one that has been covered and hidden these many years. And when you hear it, follow it, for it i
s the story the Author intended from the beginning, and you will not go wrong with it.”

  Posy watched as Faxon turned his full attention to his soldiers. Stonus immediately took over. “Come with me,” he commanded.

  They followed him out of the encampment, away from the sounds of the approaching enemies, and into the woods, pitch black with night. Posy felt her heart pounding in her chest. As they thrashed through the forest behind the centaur, Posy tripped on a root jutting from the ground, and she cried out as she lurched forward. Kyran deftly swept in front of her and caught her before she fell. For a moment, their faces were so close that Posy could feel the warmth of Kyran’s skin, and his breath on her forehead. She supposed it was this—and the fact that she was horribly afraid of both the danger behind and before them—that made her reach out and clasp his hand, forgetting any argument between them. He had forgotten too, it seemed, for he locked his strong, cool fingers through hers tightly.

  At last, Stonus slowed his pace and finally stopped. He held a hand up to silence them and lifted his head, eyes sharp and alert. His armor gleamed dully in the weak moonlight that trickled through the treetops. “We have only minutes before the doorway will open,” he said at last. “I must get you there, and through it, before the fighting reaches us.”

  “But where is the door?” asked Kyran suddenly. “Is it not in the glade?”

  “Yes, it is in the glade,” answered Stonus.

  “But we are in the middle of the forest now. We will never have time to get back to the glade if we only have minutes.” Kyran’s voice came through the darkness, edged with panic.

  “No, young one,” answered Stonus calmly. “We have only made a wide circle around the encampment. We are not far from the glade’s edge. Come.”

  They followed him again, more slowly this time, painfully cautious, through the deep-shadowed forest until the trees stopped abruptly, and moonlight flooded their faces. Posy gasped as they emerged from the forest and stepped into the glade. It was a place wholly transformed. No longer a bloody battlefield—not even a common clearing within the trees—it was bathed with pearly white-blue moonlight, desperately still and silent. Posy watched as Stonus walked right to the center of the clearing, and she half expected to see the air around him ripple and move, for it was as if he walked into a picture and not a real place. He motioned for Kyran and Posy to follow.