Trinian

by Elizabeth Russell

  Trinian Confronts the God of Drian

  Lady Adrea and Prince Afias set out for South Drian a week after the battle. They departed with two contingents of soldiers and four of Lady Adrea’s handmaidens, and Trinian did not watch them go.

  He had watched his family depart Saskatchan, and it had torn his heart with a pain he had thought would heal, but which now only filled him with a death-like agony, and he could bear no further piercing.

  He had sent a ship up the Rordan, but it was with a deep hopelessness, for in the deepest chambers of his heart, he believed they must already be lost. It would only be a just sentence for his sending them away, he thought, and he was unprepared when Dascerice arrived for an audience with him.

  Feeling as though he were holding his heart together with his two hands, Trinian accepted the conference, and watched the sailor approach with heavy tread across the throne room, an interminable period, and how he wished the throne room were smaller! At last, the man stood before him, bowed, and began.

  “Your majesty, we were a day out from Saskatchan,” he related, “when the natural god of the river stopped us. I’d never seen a god before sir, and it was terrifying. I fell to my knees… I couldn’t stand…” but Trinian knew all about the gods and their powers, and he was impatient to hear what this one had said. “He told us, Sire, that Kelta has been taken by the god of Karaka.” Trinian nodded, his heart in his throat. “He told not to go there. He told us not to return to Drian. The only option, he told Lord Garrity, who stood like a bulwark before his awesome might, was to take the princesses and queen and prince beyond the Great Desert to a hidden haven beside the sea.”

  He paused, and Trinian cried, “Well, did he do it?”

  “Prince Asbult made the decision, Sire, and yes, they decided for it. They sent me back with tidings for you, and there was nothing we could do or say to prevent it. The captain tried, but their minds were quite made up.”

  “And the last you saw – were they alive?”

  “They were being set upon by gorgan wardens along the river, and they fled into the forest. I don’t know what became of them after that.”

  Trinian fell back into his throne, his head in his hands, his shoulders trembling. He wanted Afias, but Afias was gone. He wanted Adrea, but she too, he had sent away. He was utterly, completely, and desolately alone.

  “Go!” he cried to the soldier. “They need fortification at Saskatchan; you are to report there. Wait!” he called out again. “Is there anything else? Anything you haven’t told me?”

  “Only this, sire. If we are against a god, and he is anything like the Rordan, then we are doomed.”

  Trinian’s eyes and throat burned, and he wanted to scream at the soldier to rescind his words, to acknowledge that they had won back Drian, that they had held their own so far, and they would hold out until the last man… but when the last man fell, there would be nothing more to say, because they would, indeed, be doomed. The king’s shoulders fell low, his head bowed, and he dismissed the man.

  “Too long,” he muttered to himself, running his hands fitfully across the smooth surface of the throne’s arm, “Too long I have wondered what the god is planning. I have fortified, and defended, and fought and feared – but I know nothing!” He rose up and paced the chamber. “Dark, so dark, my vision unclear – my family is safe, but for how long – I must know more. The Karakan god knows more, he knew something, he is coming to kill me! Is he coming? Why hasn’t he come? Oh, but I shall go mad!” He gripped his fair hair in his fair hands and wished for the strength of ten men, and the wisdom of twenty.

  “I shall go mad, and I shall fail because I know nothing. But the gods,” he stopped still on a sudden, and looked to the west in the direction of the Rordan River, seeming to see through the walls of the palace and behold its churning might. “The gods know, and I will know what they know.”

  He called for Gladier, for his horses, for his cloak, and in ten minutes, without a word of explanation, he and his mentor were riding hard across the paths of Drian to the shore of Rordan River.

  * * *

  They pulled up at its roaring side, and Trinian leapt from his horse, his boots barely not in the water. “Rordan!” he cried, the wind stirring his hair and heart, his hands upon his sides, and his legs firmly astride the land, full of the elation of taking matters into his own hands.

  “Rordan! It is I, Trinian, King of Drian and Emperor of Minecerva, and I call upon you to meet with me. I will have answers!”

  For a moment all was still, and Gladier was about to ask what Trinian meant by this madness, when suddenly the river churned and whirled about, and a figure rose above the surface and strode toward them as if on dry land. Tall, taller than any man, with hair that flowed over strong shoulders and a staff of gnarled wood, Rordan was as impressive as the day he first stood in the hall of the gods.

  “So, mortal king, you command me as if you were Fate himself. What gives you the right to order and call as if the entire world were at your disposal?”

  Trinian swallowed hard, but neither he nor Gladier fell to the ground. Both had already stood before a high god, and though Trinian did not yet know the difference, it was easier not to fall before a natural being in his glory.

  “I am the newly appointed king of Drian, chosen by Fate and blessed by the gods at the beginning of time. I carry the blessing of Adalam, and I have command over the natural world. But one of your kind wishes to deprive me of that right, to wrest it from my living hands, then kill me and my family and rule my world. I must know more of this enemy, and you must tell me.”

  “I need tell you nothing, mortal man. I am not a spirit you can conjure for your pleasure. I saved your family, of which I am sure you know, and that was a kindness. Not because I owed you anything. If we were to quibble, you owe me. But that does not matter. I will tell you what you ask not because you demand it but because I am invested in Drian, and I care for its people. Even you, puny man, are under my care. Do not forget it, and do not demand so blithely of your equals.”

  All was silent a moment, as if Rordan were waiting for an apology, but Trinian was silent, and the mighty man of water spoke again.

  “Had I the ability to depart the river and meet the god on his own land, I would long ago have challenged him in open combat. But it is my part to flow from the northern tip of Kelta, where water from the Northern Ocean cascades into me, and carry the gallons of water down the divide of Minecerva, until I empty into the gulf of Southern Drian.

  “Still, this clear delineation of borders does not prevent me from offering aid to those who came to ask it, or even those who do not. I was eager to offer aid to the queen and princesses, and tell them of the far-off land of paradise, of which I have never seen, but have heard rumor from the water that once resided in its lake, that has been carried by clouds in the sky, and dropped down into my own coursing waterway. And I listen eagerly for tales of them from the rivulets that flow into him.”

  Trinian stepped forward at that, his own heart beating to hear tidings. “What can you tell me of them?” he cried.

  “They are safely past the gorgans for now, and are continuing the journey,” said the god, out of pity, and Trinian visibly relaxed. The god knew that now, at last, the mortal was ready to hear news of Power.

  “Do you think you are merely against a natural god, and do you think you can command him, like you tried to do with me?” he asked quietly. “Oh, little man, you know nothing. You could no more command me than you could the mountains to fall, and to face him is to face the afterlife, or the wickedness of a man’s heart, or to command life to begin. For he is a high god.”

  Gladier visibly started.

  “Yes,” continued the god, “your mentor understands. You know he wishes to kill you, but you do not know that he wishes to kill everything, and remake it in his own image. He wishes to possess every being, and wield us as puppets upon a muddy stage. The rivers will run with blood in his reign, and he will bury every for
est, every prairie, every rock face in the grime that covers Karaka. Karaka was once a jungle land, though you do not understand what I say, since it has been a muddy plateau for hundreds of years. The natural god of the jungle did not care for his land as he ought, and when Power demanded it, he gave it up to him, and slunk far beneath the earth, until he has ceased to be himself. He has died, as you would say, and thus happens to all land when it is abused. The life spirit departs from it, and ceases to be.

  “Now Power is breeding his own warriors and sending them to Drian ahead of himself, for he dare not approach me. I am the only god who opposes him.”

  “But, why then, do you not stop his armies?” demanded Trinian. His fear was growing upon him like a wave, and he was trying to keep a grip on reality by finding fault with the god.

  “I don’t know why I can’t stop the armies,” was the calm, unexpected response. “I am always strong when I go against Power, as if with a strength not of myself. From the Golden King, perhaps. But he has sent his gorgans around me, I do not know where, and I could not stop them from invading Drian.”

  Trinian paced a long minute before finally whirling back toward the River. “Power kidnapped me – perhaps you know about that?”

  Rordan shook his head. “I did not. The water from Karaka never comes into my courses. I am surprised you survived.”

  Trinian was taken aback for a moment, his belief that this being must be all-knowing shattered, and he was uncertain that he might find all the answers here. “Well, he did, and I did. And he spoke of a prophecy that foretold that I would not fall before him, and so he should know that I was the king, and he could kill me, and he could reign over Minecerva. Do you know anything about this? Can Power see into the future?”

  Rordan looked uncertain. He folded his flowing arms over his wet, solid chest and considered for a moment. “Power cannot see the future, of that I am certain. For only Fate is this gift reserved, but he would never tell Power anything. I have heard rumors, however, of two goddesses who are called the daughters of Fate, for they can foretell a little of what is to come, and will give prophecies when asked. Perhaps that is where Power got his information. But prophecies are tricky things, and tell little accurately.”

  “Where are these daughters? Where can I find them?”

  “I’ve only heard rumors, mind you –”

  “You seemed to think rumors were enough to send my family on a long, dangerous journey. Tell me!”

  Rordan, angry again at being commanded, stared hard at the king before answering. “The mountains of Austro. They are Justice and Mercy. Do not expect them to give you the answers you seek!” With that, he dispersed with a mighty splash into his river, and disappeared.

  38

  Adrea and Afias in the Valley of Death

  The Lady of Drian, as she followed the new prince to the country of the south, seethed in her bitterness, remembering her father’s last words to her. If Prince Afias would listen to her counsel, all would be well. But if he proved to be as surly and stubborn as he had shown himself thus far in court, then nothing good could come of his command.

  Though her arm was in a cast, Gladier had accelerated Adrea’s healing, and she felt little pain now. To be sure, she insisted to everyone that there was no pain at all, but Gladier had given Faring, her handmaiden, a bottle of pain-killer and told her to keep an eye on her mistress.

  The journey south was difficult but short. This was the most frequented of the roads leading away from Drian, and it was mostly in good condition; but when they reached the path through the Sacred Wood, they began to notice signs of the enemy’s destruction as it passed through. Entire trees had been ripped up by their roots, burnt stumps and blackened branches showed signs of large fires, as if the army had lit camp fires without caring whether they singed the branches above or spread to neighboring trees. The no-man’s land was far more desolate than when Lady Adrea had traversed it five years ago with Trinian.

  They met one band of gorgans inside the wood. Four of them sat gorging themselves on venison and failed to look up until the Drian party was right on top of them. Afias led his men, and without loss of life, butchered the creatures. Throwing themselves upon the heavy-toothed creatures, stabbing them through the chest and neck at once, it was the work of a moment, and it was ended.

  At the easy victory, the hearts of the Drinians lifted. The men were eager to follow Afias, who had thrown himself upon the largest of the beasts, and who seemed seasoned now as if he has been in many battles. He had led the army bravely in Mestraff, defended boldly when they lost Drian, and led the charge to retake it, but it was this close encounter in the woods that seemed to elevate him in the eyes of his men. Now they loved him and cheered for him, and felt that they could overcome anything so long as he led them.

  When they emerged from the boundary forest into the depths of South Drian, they found the land more devastated than they could have imagined. Most villages had been utterly wiped out; a few held only shattered, hollow-eyed inhabitants who had lost everything. The caravan traveled for two days towards the palace, meeting only the odd, struggling farmer here and there. These they picked up, and added to their group.

  But on the morn of the third sun, a rider appeared who had apparently been searching for them. His name was Garla, the brother of the man who died in Drian, and he was young, maybe only fourteen, but he was brave. He came to seek their help, for not all the enemy soldiers had departed South Drian. Some had discovered one of the hideaways and were attacking it as they spoke, and Afias immediately turned the caravan to follow the boy.

  The screams could be heard three miles away. They swelled over the hills and like the echo of a bad dream sounded in Adrea’s ears. Though Afias led them quickly, still the screams sounded and they were no closer. The village had hidden itself well, and without Garla, their party would have had difficulty discovering it. But somehow, the enemy had found them out.

  “Just around this last hill! We’re almost to the Kazeel Valley!” Garla told them, and Afias separated the soldiers from the civilians, ordering the latter to remain behind.

  Adrea joined the prince where he rode forward at the head of the contingent, and she felt mild displeasure radiate from him as he sighed and shifted restlessly in his saddle. If he means for me to stay behind with the civilians, he had better do some rethinking. But he said nothing, and they rode around the hill.

  The gorgans must have had warning of them, for when the contingent thundered round the swell into the valley, they were retreating over the hills… but the damage was done. The field stretched before them a sodden mess, muddy and wet, red and black with blood. Bodies sprawled about like laundry scattered by the wind, and they were all the bodies of women.

  Adrea dropped from her horse in disbelief and approached one of them, not caring that her gown dragged through the filth. She overheard one of the men talking to the prince. He was in shock and his voice cracked and broke, “All those who couldn’t fight came here to us. We thought we’d be safe. What could we do? They didn’t want us. We tried to fight, with our bare hands even, but they threw us into the houses, and barricaded the doors. My wife…” And she heard no more through his weeping. None of the older children or men had been harmed – only the new born infants and the women who had been with child. The beasts cared only for the most tender and new, those who had yet to experience life. Adrea looked down at the dead women at her feet – and vomited.

  The Lady of Drain had encountered horror too often to let it overwhelm her long. She was not immune to it, but she had seen too much. It must just be faced and sometimes – when the horror is beyond imagining – forgotten. She looked at the sky, away from the valley, and breathed deeply. Then she looked about for the prince, for he was her responsibility.

  She saw him at a distance bent over a woman and blinded by his tears. She took her horse by its bridle and went to him; kneeling gently, she saw that the woman he held had been gutted. Her stomach, once round, was now o
pen.

  “Afias,” she said to him, “it’s time to move on.”

  “I have to help them,” he said, his voice hollow and numb.

  Seeing the expression in the prince’s eyes, she knew that he could not thus make his appearance before the court. She knew she must get him far away from this horror, this sea of useless death, if he was going to be any help to the people of South Drian. “You will. Come with me and tomorrow, you will help them.”

  She took his blood-washed hand and led him to the horse. It was a valley of graves, but the graves were not tombs, they were women. Grimly, she led him from the Valley of Kazeel.

  39

  Adrea Deepens Her Resolve to Control the Prince

  The Drinian soldiers did not notice Adrea and Afias leave the valley, occupied as they were in gathering up the bodies for a mass burial. Adrea, leaving the prince sitting in a little dell, his head in his hands, went back to the caravan and told them to go on ahead to the palace as soon as the soldiers returned from the valley. She said that she and the prince would arrive tomorrow.

  “I’ll come with you, lady,” said Faring.

  Adrea almost dismissed her, but then thought better of it, aware that rumors could circulate quickly, especially in a strange land, and Faring’s presence would ensure against that.

  “Very well.”

  They found the prince as she had left him, still in a brown mood, brooding so deeply he barely registered their presence. She had to lead him like a child, her scorn for him deepening with each step, and the women set up camp in the wood.

  “My lady,” asked Faring, looking strangely at her mistress, “what did you see in that valley?”

  “Nothing. Don’t worry: he’ll be himself again soon,” she answered tightly.

  “No, my lady. It’s you. I’ve never seen your eyes so haunted.”

  Adrea’s heart tightened and she did not answer. The images surged again in her mind, red and black and twisted, but she pushed them away, refusing to recall the blood-stained valley, and turning her attentions solely to the prince. Before going to sleep, she pulled out Faring’s bag. I am certain Gladier gave her a numbing agent for my arm. After rooting around for a moment, she found a little bottle, nodded in satisfaction, and measured out three drops into the prince’s glass. He drank it mechanically when she handed it over, then she returned the bottle to the bag, taking none for herself.