Dream of Embers Book 1

by J.B. Kleynhans

Shala welcomed the soldiers as they shuffled into the dining hall, led by captain Merohan, the lot of them looking unsure at this gesture, hesitating to take their seats around the giant oak table, the red cushions of the high chairs having never seen more unlikely guests.

  They sat uncomfortably at first, careful in their movements as the many starter dishes came about, apparently intimidated by the number of eating utensils. Naceus was soon after to arrive, coming to the dining hall like a man who simply stumbled onto the occasion by accident. Seeing him that way made Shala smile and she experienced a warm feeling, standing up and greeting him.

  He was the smartest man Shala had ever met, and possibly the wisest, although that honour she usually attributed to her father. Naceus was part of the Attoras castle as much as the antique furniture or the paintings on the walls, and Shala loved the old man dearly. He spent many patient years teaching Shala as a girl and she knew her father had admired him above all his other advisors.

  There was not a drop of malice in the man, shying away from wars and violence even though studying such histories profusely. He was not a dreamer and had no power save for his intellect, yet Shala knew the man had entire worlds in that head of his, where he spent much of his time. In her life she had never seen a person who could be so removed from reality, smoking his pipe, lost in thought, and oblivious to all that is around him.

  Scholar Naceus had always been a small man, somewhat stooped and stocky, but tough in own right, Shala conceded in her thoughts. On his wizened face he wore one of many pairs of spectacles he carried around with him. He was balding on the top, but with thick greying curls still at the sides and back of his head. The pockets in his waistcoat were often full of pocket watches, notebooks, pens and even other devices that looked like pocket watches but measured things like temperature or told the movements of the moons.

  Gathering himself to the situation (the Scholar had most certainly been locked in deep thought before he came face to face with the Princess) he was left curious by the men seated at the king's table tonight and only once remarked at how strange this was, but he settled soon, and enjoyed the evening immensely. He seemed to have a way with soldiers, stooping his academic talk to converse with and fascinate simpler men, without resorting to the crude words that crept in so often in soldier's speech. Upon one thing they all agreed; the food was good.

  There were dishes topped with a creamy cheese flavoured with garlic, which Naceus was partial to. The rice swam in gravy and the baby potatoes the Princess loved were gone by the time the silver plate passed by her; she did not mind and smiled, knowing the soldiers would not taste better than Kaell's efforts. There was apple pie, the cinnamon flavour touching the nose the moment the crusts were pierced and the few soldiers that came to eat it with a tuft of whipped cream would forevermore swear the dish as their favourite.

  The household guard always looked to be a proud bunch, and as a royalist escort they were expected to be concise in conversation and conserved otherwise. But then as always the guard had all kinds of men.

  Two of the simpler men, named Urad and Salonce, were in a particular fix with each other. ‘You cannot use that pig-sticker to eat those fishies,’ said Urad in admonishment, referring to the oyster he himself was scooping with a spoon.

  ‘What do you know? First of all, oysters aren't fish. And I’ve seen the King and his royal guests pick ’em with these,’ said Salonce. ‘Besides, you did not stand in when His Grace dined here, you use the utensils from the outside to the inside!’ explained Salonce hovering his hands over the many forks and knives on either side of the plates to indicate.

  ‘Bah, the only reason you’re in the household guard and already watching Kings eat is because your father worked in the castle,’ said Urad.

  ‘And you’re only a castle-man because you broke a captain’s jaw! What dumb luck!’ retorted Salonce.

  ‘He turned out to be a traitor and a murderer! They hanged him!’ said Urad in his own defence.

  ‘Aye, but you struck him before that fact came to light – because he spat on you as he spoke! He already lay in the infirmary when his deeds became public. Then by some misunderstanding they said you caught him! You received promotion instead of dismissal!’ said Salonce excitedly.

  Urad opened his mouth to counter.

  ‘Boys, let’s quiet down and enjoy the evening shall we?’ said Naceus from the side.

  ‘Uh... yes sir,’ they both mumbled embarrassed, occupying themselves with the food again, Urad swearing by his spoon even when prying meat from the bone, Salonce shaking his head and muttering something about his friend growing up on porridge.

  More to the end of the evening Shala had Naceus for herself, the joy of the evening fading to the quiet content of small talk among the soldiers, stomachs filled, and to Shala’s satisfactions, dishes cleared save for a few unattended morsels.

  She had been determined not letting tonight stumble on more serious matters, but all the same she could not stop herself from bringing her worries to Naceus. More than anything she stressed her concern that with his note the King had meant for her to journey to Nem Nemuris, that he was seeing his House going the way of Wolves, and its last great contribution being a pilgrim that could strengthen the Dream.

  ‘What do you think Scholar?’ she asked, after he had been silent for awhile in the wake of her explanation.

  Naceus picked through his dessert, finding the sweetest bits for the last of his appetite.

  ‘Your father the King was a man of advancing years, Highness. He had an heir, a beautiful strong daughter in fact and he served the Kingdom as best he could. He gave all that he could give and was ripe to fulfil the dream so to speak. He could depart and know the Kingdom was in safe hands. I for one would speak against any idea of yourself taking the pilgrimage. This kingdom, proud and old, will need you, last of the line, and I know you would serve it well. And I mean serve, because should Your Highness depart and pass on the right of rule to another, the prospecting King we speak of will roam with the illusion that Kinghood is naught but power, the raw exercise of greed and misery.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me Scholar, I know full well what Patrick of Sannil is.’

  ‘For once, and I shudder to do so, I agree with Swarztial. Your father the King was in no clear mind on his deathbed, and I am afraid the very weak state had left him to despair. Do not let your father's last musings amount to misunderstanding.’

  ‘You know Swarztial said that?’ asked Shala.

  ‘I have my own eyes and ears in the castle Highness, although they are not as mischievous as Swarztial's. Nonetheless, anything said in the court has a good chance of reaching me.’

  Captain Merohan had the mindfulness not to let the soldiers get too comfortable, and announced for all of them that the time had come to depart. Rather sullenly the other soldiers followed his lead, but remembered their manners in bowing to the Princess before filing out of the dining room. Finally Shala and Naceus were alone, and Kaell oversaw the disposal of the leftovers and the washing of the dishes in the kitchen.

  She watched thoughtfully as the unassuming cook moved in and out to clear the table, somehow finding time to quickly refill her and Naceus' wine glasses before moving along.

  ‘And that face Highness, is one I saw on a little girl who used to think about things, and I would offer her a bronze penny for her thoughts, only for her to boast that her father's treasury doesn't need pennies.’

  Shala smiled. ‘Just earlier tonight I had talked to Kaell about the Dream of Embers. Not that I revealed anything of course. I only spoke to him because I trust him so. He once pointed out the star sign of the horn to me in the night skies and so we got stuck in the discussion of dreams. But I have been wondering, and surely there is no one better to ask - I’m afraid I myself do not know much about the Dream? ’

  ‘It is shrouded in mystery even to the enlightened!’ said Naceus.

  The Scholar adjusted his glasses, putting his index finger
to his temple and gathering his words like Shala knew him to do on the occasion.

  ‘Nem Nemuris, called the Tomb of Kings, lies far to the south. This you know. Great kingly houses, from Attoras and Avandar, and many other city-states have provided pilgrims for the Dream. There the most incredible magic is woven, and men of lineage, whose blood is capable and powerful, blossom. In their last moments they become the unifying dream, their power permeating through rivers and mountains and groves, and through the hearts and minds of men. It gives reason and peace and stifles powers that lust destruction and suffering. It facilitates the Rules of Realm, which you know is crucial in keeping nefarious creatures at bay.’

  Shala nodded all along to Naceus’ explanation, familiar with most of what he said. ‘What is it that these Kings blossom into?’

  ‘Monoliths, Highness, they turn to what is considered the final state, unmoving and in eternal stasis, like the rocks deep beneath the surface of Angaria and transformed by pressures to something greater. They forsake life and body to become nothing more than mind and dream, contained within living crystal, like statues, but their power still transcending their confines for the betterment of our world.’

  ‘It is sacrifice then,’ murmured Shala.

  ‘Had you expected it to be something else?’ asked Naceus.

  ‘No, my heart already knew it. From pieces of history and stories I heard I always knew that those who go south to join the Dream do not return.’

  ‘You must also know that those who go are old and past their prime, usually leaving many heirs behind.’

  ‘To your knowledge, is it true that I might be the last eligible?’ asked Shala.

  ‘Yes, a strange turn of events. Even ten years ago there were still some who could journey. But as far as I hold record there are none now among the great houses that can blossom, no one but you, Your Highness.’

  ‘Then at one time or another, I might as well make the journey and offer myself,’ said Shala, seeing an increasingly worrying face on Naceus. ‘As it stands, I might yet be forced to go soon, some days it seems unlikely that I would hold to my throne. I might as well be of different use.’

  ‘Not at all Highness, in this I do not agree. More that are eligible will be born and should you have children, then the likelihood of that is all the better.’

  Shala smiled. ‘You would not be happy if I decided to take to the road Scholar?’

  ‘I would not have any royal friends of intelligence to talk to if you do! Speaking honestly Princess, what little peace might be bought by the Dream will not undo men like Swarztial; he will remain as devious as he is and only you in the flesh can put an end to his conniving.’

  ‘Then don't worry Scholar, Attoras is my priority. Even if I do take to the Dream, I will first lay aside this threat of Swarztial, and I hope to become quite old before I journey.’

  Naceus nodded. ‘Now that would warm my heart,’ he said with a smile. A thought struck Naceus that suddenly had his smiled wiped off.

  ‘There is another gathering of stars in the sky that stands unfulfilled for five hundred years. When it captures the movement of Rodreon and Castilleon within its web, it is known as the Sign of Toreg. I have been watching it worryingly for some time now. It bodes ill, as it did when the sign first appeared all those years ago.’

  ‘What is this all about Scholar?’ asked Shala, wondering where this was coming from.

  ‘Highness, do you by any chance remember Jeot Agathir's Remnant Pages? They used to mention the Sign of Toreg quite often.’

  ‘How could I forget? You had me pour hours over it when I was young.’

  Naceus chuckled. ‘Your father instructed me to train your mind and I did exactly that,’ said Naceus unapologetically.

  ‘And yet you never awarded my curiosity Scholar, you never gave me enough of the pages so that I might understand the purpose of all those puzzles and codes.’

  ‘There was reason to this Highness, young as you were, the implications of Agathir's work was always alarming and upsetting. Why, I am old and I could not bear the topics he delved into!’

  ‘Why bring it up Scholar?’

  ‘I was recently visited by a man enquiring to purchase the few documents we have. I immediately did not like the look of this man, and knowing Agathir's allure to dark-sided matters I feared this man was after the pages for this very reason. He was rather terrifying I admit, but I would be hard-pressed to put a face on him. Nevertheless I assured him the pages were not in my possession and even if they were they are not mine to sell in the first place. He made a very high offer then, as though it might change matters. I assured him it did not. Then, before I could know it, he was making threats; telling me that he has men in the castle and that if he could not buy the Remnant Pages, he would simply have it taken.’

  The Princess' face was grave as she said, ‘Naceus, you know how exposed the library is, and Swarztial already has his lackeys running around the castle in the pretence of servants. If this man is associated with him, then they will take the Remnant Pages as easily as he boasted.’

  ‘I know Highness, which is why I figured it prudent to tell you.’

  ‘I would not trust these documents with anyone else, do you have a safe place to keep them?’ asked Shala.

  ‘Of course! What self-respecting Scholar would not have a hideaway for precious material! Or at least in this case, material I would rather not see in the hands of dark strangers...’

  ‘Then you may take the pages from the library Scholar, as soon as you must and speak no word of your retrieval of them lest you place yourself in danger.’

  ‘I'll be discreet Highness, of course, and thank you for understanding.’

  Leaving the dining room the two of them made for the library, the corridor to it and the room itself sponsoring a silence that made way for their echoing footsteps. No one was more at home in the library than Naceus, and without ado he scrambled up a step ladder, intimately aware where different archives were stashed. He pushed volumes of books aside to reach in deep behind them.

  ‘Ah.’

  He came down with more deliberation, muttering something about heights, slowly stepping down with the selected bundle of papers.

  ‘There they are, all of them still intact. I'd so hoped that I never need touch them again.’

  ‘Saying that makes you the perfect person to safeguard them Scholar,’ said Shala sincerely.

  ‘Of course,’ said Naceus, ‘that and my tremendous skill at arms and swords, no foe will dare cross the threshold of this Scholar!’ he said, much to the Princess's amusement.

  Shala walked the Scholar all the way to the castle entrance, talking lightly and steering clear of the administrative issues that plagued the Princess during the day.

  ‘It was so good to see you again Scholar,’ said Shala.

  ‘As it was you. I believe I'll come more often. This place needs more men of good humour. You have fine men among your guard Highness and I believe your gesture here will not go uncounted for.’

  Shala smiled, ‘A pity they cannot vote on the council.’

  ‘No they cannot I'm afraid. All the same, I think you do Attoras proud and it'd be the council's mistake to suppose others could do the same. Farewell Highness, I hope by the next time we meet you will have a heavy crown on your head and I will have to bow an inch or two lower than usual.’

  Shala hugged the short man, ‘You will never have to bow to me Naceus.’

  She stared fondly after him as he left down the steps and toward the bailey, a guard with a lamp leading him to town. Turning in she made straight for her own room, her mood greatly improved.

  The fire in the hearth had warmed her room nicely by the time she turned to bed. The wine had made her eyes heavy and put a yawn on her lips, but even so she strolled over to her dresser, where her music box lay. It had been her mother’s, and as long as she could remember Shala let it play out its tune to lull her to sleep. As usual one of her chambermaids had already wound the t
hing, so she need not use the winding key unless she happened to open the box during the day.

  The moment she opened it the cylinder set in motion, and it played the all too familiar melody. She crawled into the canopied bed, the drawn canvasses around the tall bedpost hiding her away from the world, allowing only the crackle of the fire and the music to sneak into the warmth of where she rested. As with most timeless tunes the notes were simple and repetitive, having little work to do as Shala faded into slumber.