The Wayward Godking

by Brendan Carroll

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  The assembly hall at Sir Barry’s Academy was filled with anxious faces as the Grand Master prepared to address them. The Knights sat in the first three rows, somewhat apart from each other as if they needed room to think. There were eight of twelve present. Four were missing. There were seven apprentices, though they did not all match up with present masters. The apprentices sat together on the fourth row, and the rest of the Villa’s residents sat in the back three rows.

  Edgard stood behind the podium while Barry took up a position on his right alternately chewing his bottom lip and scratching his head.

  “Ladies… Brothers and gentlemen,” he began slowly. “I consulted with Brother Simon and Brother Ramsay concerning our predicament here. They have come to the conclusion, after mulling over the various possibilities, that we may be intertwined or somehow contained within a dream state, or possibly, within someone else’s dream state. They are convinced we may be actively participating in this plot, or whatever it is, every time we dream. It seems Brother Lucio dreamed of Brother Ramsay just prior to his arrival here. Simon, that is, Brother Simon, dreamed of Sister Meredith just before she appeared. Brother Lucio further claims he dreamed of Galen Zachary and his wife, Catharine just prior to their arrival at his door in Naples. We still cannot explain why the party from Naples was allowed to drive here, but they did accomplish the feat, and most likely it was simply because they were all of the same accord. They all wanted to come here. If that is true… if all of these speculations are true, then we may, in fact, be able to control some portion of these… this… damnable situation by being single-minded of purpose or, by dreaming ourselves free of this situation.”

  He paused while everyone digested his announcement and a round of murmurs circulated throughout the assembly.

  “Since we are not accustomed to controlling our dreams, per se, I suggest we attempt to utilize the former, rather than the latter method to extract ourselves from this place,” he continued after a moment and his suggestion was met with numerous nods of approval from almost everyone in the assembly.

  “That is the nature of the beast at this moment and, if we all understand what it is I am suggesting, I will open the floor now for comments, suggestions or questions.” He nodded to Barry and the Seneschal took his place behind the podium, asking them to raise their hands to be recognized.

  At first, no one raised a hand, and most of them sat silently glancing about at one another.

  Finally, Catharine raised her hand.

  “Mrs. Dambretti,” Barry called her name.

  “I would like to know what common goal we might be expected to share.”

  “We might agree on a particular place we wish to go,” Edgard answered.

  “We are open to suggestions,” Barry added. “It should be someplace we are all familiar with.”

  “Then we might then just try to drive away?” She followed with another question. “Drive away all thinking of a single destination?”

  “Possibly,” he nodded. “There should be enough vehicles to accommodate everyone.”

  Another hand shot up immediately.

  “Mr. Corrigan,” Barry called on Carlisle.

  “I do not believe we can drive out of this place,” he stated. “I do not believe it would be possible, even under the best of conditions, to drive from southern Italy to Ireland.”

  “Of course, it would not be possible to drive from here to Ireland,” Edgard agreed.

  “I submit then,” Carlisle continued “that we are not really in southern Italy in the first place and attempting to drive away would be foolhardy, at least, and, at worst, even dangerous.”

  “Given,” Edgard said. “We may have to agree to a simple meditation on a common thought.”

  A third hand went up.

  “Brother Issachar,” Barry recognized the Knight of the Wisdom of Solomon.

  “Brother, ladies, gentlemen,” the amiable son of the Healer stood to address the assembly. He was the most dashing of all of Simon’s sons, by far the most handsome and while not the most brilliant, his sense of humor was without equal. He could have remarried with ease after the death of his wife, Gloriana, but he chose to remain true to her memory and a dream to many of the young ladies residing on the Isle of Ramsay. “I propose we all join hands and think of the meadow in Scotland. That is the most benign place I can think of. Surely, we are all familiar with the meadows, perhaps we can sort of transport ourselves there.”

  Philip’s hand went up next as expected. Izzy could never say or do anything without being challenged by his slightly older, more intellectual brother.

  “My esteemed Brother Issachar makes a good suggestion, however, he should know better than most of us, since he is, after all, the historian of the Order, we have, historically speaking, been unable to agree upon whether the Villa or Scotland is the better place for conducting the affairs of the Order. Isn’t that correct, Grandfather… er, Your Grace?” The Knight of the Sword’s blue eyes sparkled as he turned his attention to the Grand Master. “I ask you how he might believe Scotland would be more benign than sunny, southern Italy?”

  “Point taken,” Edgard nodded. “But seeing as how we are already in sunny, southern Italy or something that appears to be southern Italy, it would be best to try to get to another place. In order to test our theory, we should agree on another place familiar to all of us as Brother Issachar has stated. I’m not sure if the word ‘transport’ is correctly used here, however.”

  “Mr. Zebulon d’Ornan,” Barry called on the next man when Edgard stopped speaking.

  “Sirs, ladies,” Zeb said, not to be outdone by Izzy, also stood and turned to bow to the ladies at the back of the assembly. They had added several more young ladies and women from the Isle of Ramsay in the past few days. It seemed some of them were doing quite a bit of dreaming. One in particular caught his eye and blushed though no one else noticed. “I must agree with both of my esteemed Brothers. We must decide on a place commonly known to all of us. I have noticed some of the later arrivals may not be familiar with the estate in Lothian, yet they are quite familiar with the Isle of Ramsay and St. Patrick’s Island. Does anyone here not know of those islands? At least enough to visualize them in a concentrated effort?”

  Several ‘ayes’ and nods of approval greeted his suggestion.

  “That is a very good suggestion, Mr. Zebulon.” Edgard smiled at Barry of Sussex’s apprentice, and then scanned the back of the room for Marceline Brandel.

  Of course, she was there. The growing romance between the dark Marceline and the fair d’Ornan brother was becoming legend amongst the islanders. He was not even a Knight of the Council, and yet, he rode about the island dressed in the most flamboyant outfits whenever he had the chance, pretending to be the epitome of the Noble Knight, rescuer of fair maidens, dragon slayer, etceteras, etceteras. Only Marceline Brandel, who pretended not to be impressed by his shenanigans, had won his attentions, and the pursuit had become a subject of much speculation and debate. Now he had apparently dreamed her here. “Is everyone agreed the Isle of Ramsay would be a good choice for a common goal?”

  A chorus of ‘ayes’ erupted in the room and the vote seemed unanimous. Even Corrigan voted in the affirmative. The Isle of Ramsay was close enough to Ireland for him.

  Catharine’s hand was up again.

  “Mrs. Dambretti,” Barry spoke her name again, and Lucio turned on the bench to look at his wife.

  “I am well versed in the arts of concentration, meditation, visualization and the like. I have practiced these arts for years using several different methods, and I find them all quite effective. However, I happen to know the art of visualization is not something one embarks upon lightly. It is an exacting, exhausting process, long and tiring just to learn to do it. And even more difficult is the art of concentration. I would not wish to slight anyone present, but I am skeptical as to whether everyone here would be able to conjure up a picture of the same goal
and be able to hold it unwavering long enough to accomplish such a feat, if such a feat is possible without some means of travel, some vehicle, some mode of transport. If we all concentrate and plan to project ourselves to another place unsuccessfully, we may scatter our psyches to the four winds. I must remind all of you we are not even sure of where we are, or if we are here physically, or in some other form.”

  When she finished speaking, a pall of disappointment fell over the room.

  “Miss Galindwynne,” Barry called on the elderly woman wearing a gray shawl over her hair.

  “Excuse me for butting into family affairs, but I will say this on behalf of myself and Carlisle. If we are going to practice magick, then those of us who know how to do it would be obliged to carry the weight of those who do not. I pledge my power, what little I may have, to ensure the success of this endeavor. I expect my son to do the same.”

  “Thank you, Madam.” Edgard nodded to her and then smiled.

  “Brother de Bleu,” Barry called on the Knight of the Wisdom of Solomon.

  “Pardonne moi.” The golden Knight stood slowly, and then locked eyes with his grandfather, who sat on the front bench with Lucio. “I do not wish to cause problems, but I would like to advance the notion that the second option might be better undertaken than this method proposed by the Master.”

  “How so?” Edgard asked him gruffly.

  “First, because of what Madam Dambretti has pointed out, and secondly, because we have in our midst two expert… Dream Walkers.”

  A small ripple and twitter of voices ran through the assembly hall as everyone looked at everyone else in surprise and confusion.

  “Dream Walkers?” Edgard frowned and then chuckled. “That sounds like something the Native Americans would claim as part of their particular spiritual culture, I believe. Golden Eagle? Are you a Dream Walker?”

  Dambretti sat up straighter, and then narrowed his eyes before standing to answer the question. There was a decidedly uncharacteristic gleam in the Grand Master’s eyes.

  “Your Grace.” He nodded directly to the Master and a tiny smile played across his lips. “I would remind His Excellency, the Grand Master, I am Italian by birth, the son of Venetian Aristocracy, not Native American, though I have often referred to myself as Chief of the Dumbfuck Tribe, when Your Grace intentionally belittles me in the company of members and non-members of this Order. I would like to take this opportunity to challenge the reasoning capabilities of the Grand Master and move that a new Grand Master be elected with all due respect.”

  “Hold your tongue!” The Grand Master blurted.

  “If I do that, I will not be able to speak, and I believe the floor was open to suggestions, comments and questions, was it not?” Dambretti raised both eyebrows at the Seneschal, who was unable to speak momentarily. “I move for a chambered meeting and an immediate vote.”

  “A motion has been placed before the assembly,” Barry intoned the proper words even though he was still obviously shaken by Dambretti’s request. “Do we have a second?”

  Dead silence filled the intervening spaces between them.

  “No second?” Barry asked again and then shrugged. “The motion does not carry, Brother. There is no second.”

  Lucio smiled and shrugged. “It was just a thought. No, I am not a Dream Walker, nor am I a Native American, Your Grace,” he said lightly and resumed his seat as if nothing amiss had happened. Mark Andrew shot him a dark look.

  “Then who?” Edgard demanded and looked about the room at the blank faces staring at him. The Grand Master’s face glowed deep red with suppressed anger. Dambretti had gotten to him… again. “Lavon de Bleu! Who are these two experts as you call them? I have warned all of you against using black magick. If it does not come from the Wisdom of Solomon, it has no place in this Order. I know a few things about these so-called Dream Walkers, and I know they are associated with Shamanistic practices. Shamanism has no place in this Order. Neither does Wiccan or Wise Woman practices. I will not allow such to be practiced by my Knights, Sir! I will tell you this, if any of you are dabbling in the Black Arts again, I will see to it you are ex-communicated and exiled from the Order. Now, tell me who these…. Shamans are, Sir de Bleu!”

  Edgard’s anger deepened when de Bleu hesitated to answer his question. He glanced at Mark Andrew and found the Knight of Death perusing him coolly from under his dark brows. Lavon was Ramsay’s grandson. Mark had never spoken a harsh word he could remember to any of Edgard’s grandsons. At least, not since they had come of age and especially not since some of them had become accepted members of the Council as Knights or Apprentices.

  “I would rather not say, Your Grace,” Lavon told him shortly and sat down abruptly.

  “That is not an option,” the Master told him evenly. “You will answer my question or you will suffer the same sentence I have just pronounced.”

  Mark Andrew raised his hand and, again, a silence fell over the assembly even more profound than before.

  “Sir Mark Ramsay,” Barry’s voice carried just a hint of tremor as he called on the Knight of Death.

  “Your Grace, I would speak on behalf of my grandson and others in this matter. I believe we have long since come past all that. None here believe you or anyone else can ex-communicate anyone, and if you can, from whom are you cutting them off, Edgard? From which god? Every man and woman in this room has God in his or her heart. Even you. Your threat of ex-communication does you no justice, Sir. You are angry with Dambretti. Why not just face that fact and admit he got under your skin? It is not as if you are immune to such things. Furthermore, my question is this: Whence would you exile my grandson from here?”

  The Grand Master’s face had gone from red to ashen.

  “Sir!” Simeon stood before his grandfather could say anything further. “Lavon is speaking of me. I am a Dream Walker.”

  “No!” Reuben objected and stood beside his brother. Simon’s two eldest sons faced their grandfather from the back row of the hall. “I am the Dream Walker. Simeon is trying to protect me.”

  “De Bleu said two. Two Dream Walkers.” Edgard shifted his attention from Mark to his grandsons. “I should have suspected you, Reuben. You have always been a disappointment to me.”

  “I will not listen to this!” Simon stood up abruptly.

  “Sit down, Little Brother.” Mark looked over his shoulder at the Healer. “He has no power over them. They are neither Knights, nor apprentices. They are free men or, at least they were the last time I looked. I distinctly heard him say ‘one of my Knights or apprentices’. Did I not?” The Knight of Death raised both eyebrows at the Grand Master.

  A tittering of voices filled the air, and Barry called for order, banging his gavel on the table.

  “I suggest we get on with what we came here for,” Barry said loudly as they settled down.

  D’Brouchart sat down slowly and shook his head in disgust.

  “Now,” Barry continued. “I believe we have established the possibility of using dream works to break this spell or whatever we are suffering. Simeon, Reuben. What say you of Brother Lavon’s suggestion? Can it be done? Is it feasible?”

  “I haven’t practiced the art in some time,” Simeon admitted and looked at Reuben.

  “It is quite possible to do almost anything in the dream states, Sir Barry,” Reuben spoke up. “I taught it to Simeon. I learned it from one of my boys while exiled in Texas. He was abandoned at a roadside park near Dalhart. He had only a few beads and feathers on him when he was found. Someone left him on a picnic table in willow basket. The authorities identified the beads and designs on his blanket as those of the Navajo Tribe. They named him Johnny Bluesky at the hospital because he was found beneath the clear blue sky and he had blue eyes. A very unusual trait for a Native American baby. At any rate, he was very special, very spiritual, as it turned out. He lived with us on the Island until he died of old age and I learned a great deal from him that I never learned from any of you. If anyone is to be exiled,
it should be me. I am, after all, used to it.” Bitterness surfaced from deeply buried resentments, re-opening old wounds in not only his own heart, but those of his father and grandfather as well.

  “I may have spoken rashly,” Edgard said; his anger fading. “Sir Ramsay is correct, Reuben. I have no say in your affairs. You are still free to live your own life. If you prefer the primitive religions of the Indians to the Religion of Christ as taught by the Perfected Ones, then so be it.”

  “You are so full of yourself, Grandfather,” Reuben actually laughed. “I realize you have been around for a long, long time, but so have the Navajo and the Anasazi and the Hopi and the Mayan, for that matter. They have room for Christ, the Son of the Great Father, in their religion. Do you not have room for them in yours? You discredit them.”

  “Perhaps, you are right,” Edgard admitted. “I know very little of things that occurred across the sea after the fall of Atlantis. But tell me, Reuben, do you believe you can control the dreams of these here present?”

  Reuben looked about the room slowly and then nodded.

  “With Simeon’s help and Johnny Bluesky’s spirit looking on, I believe I can manage.” He smiled and then looked around the room until he found Vanni. “I will need Vanni Dambretti as well.”

  Lucio frowned and Mark caught his arm.

  The Golden Eagle’s son stood quickly and smiled at being named in front of the auspicious assembly. He had never had the honor of attending a meeting with his father before.

  “In what capacity?” The Grand Master asked. He may have deplored the actions and words of Lucio Dambretti, but he still held him and his family in high, but well hidden, esteem.

  “As drummer, Sir,” Reuben told him and then turned his famous d’Ornan smile on the younger Dambretti.

  Chapter Four of Twelve

  for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me.