FOUR KINGS: A Novel

by M. D. Elster

  “So naturally the Lion King has backed off and rescinded his order of martial law. He’s claiming he had nothing to do with this rogue courtier,” Mr. Thomas adds.

  An anxious thought occurs to me. “Which member of Lion’s court was the culprit?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. But they’ve caught the devil and thrown him into prison, to be sure,” says Mrs. Hobbs. “But that’s not all! To top it off, the Young Cwen’s visit to Unicorn’s kingdom has resulted in a royal engagement!”

  “That’s right,” says Mr. Thomas. “The Four Kingdoms will be united as one again, under a new High Cyning.”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Hobbs says, continuing to show her enthusiasm with her flighty hands. “And Mr. Fletcher — lucky him! He is smack dab in the center of all the truly big celebration! Isn’t it grand?”

  I watch a group of children circling a maypole, small animal-headed boys and girls shouting out to one another in glee. I haven’t the faintest clue what this celebration is all about, but seeing the village abuzz with such social proceedings is disorienting.

  “I admit, it is quite exciting,” Mr. Croft says, adjusting his monocle. “Up in the Northern Kingdom, they are having such feasts and celebrations as to rewrite all the history books! And our Mr. Fletcher is there, sitting on the right hand of the king!”

  “I see,” I say, but I don’t see at all. So much changed, and in what feels like — to me, at least — a short period of time. I am a little hurt that Mr. Fletcher did not think to send for me to tell me the news, or to join in the merriment. After all, he was quick enough to send for me when the Land of the Four Kings was in trouble.

  “If you’re looking for Mr. Fletcher, dear human girl, you’ll have to travel the northern road and be admitted to the castle,” Mrs. Hobbs advises me. “I doubt he’s in a hurry to come home anytime soon… I heard the Unicorn King is going to knight him! I’d stay for a while me-self, if I was going to be given a noble title!”

  “That’s fine,” I reply. “When I came here tonight,” I pause, and look at the noon-bright sky overheard, “er, or, this afternoon? I assumed I would need to travel north, as north is the only direction I haven’t gone. The Court of the Unicorn is the last and final kingdom Mr. Fletcher and I had yet to visit together.”

  “Well, it’s the loveliest, most orderly kingdom, that’s sure,” Mrs. Hobbs says. “If you’re to go, you’ll want to take this road here out of the village and to Harpy’s Cross.”

  “Yes… I remember…” I say, squinting at the road.

  “Good girl,” says Mrs. Hobbs. “And then from there, the road to the north is marked by a sign. Please give Mr. Fletcher our congratulations and good wishes!”

  I find my way out of the village, towards Harpy’s Cross. While the sudden joy that has overtaken the land is certainly a welcome change, it has nonetheless caught me off-balance. For now, there is only one thing to do: I will walk to the Court of the Unicorn and find my fox-headed friend. Surely Mr. Fletcher can explain everything.

  At Harpy’s Cross, I find the road that leads to the north well-marked, just as Mrs. Hobbs promised it would be. As I walk along, the conditions of the road become unexpectedly easy and increasingly pleasant as I go. The road itself grows better and better maintained, transforming from dirt to gravel to paving stones to beautifully interlocked marble stones. The hills around me roll gently — nothing to make the journey too strenuous, but just enough to make it scenic and agreeable.

  I notice two other distinct phenomena: The grass grows greener and greener with every step I take further along the northbound road, and the light overhead turns from midday to that of morning. Soon enough, the wild grasses give way to colorful wildflowers: Red and orange poppies, yellow daisies, white snowdrops, and… an endless carpet of bluebells. I can see great mountains, far off in the distance. It would seem I have entered a land experiencing an eternal Alpine spring: Songbirds chatter as they chase after butterflies, every plant and tree is festooned with fresh green buds and delicate blossoms, rabbits and gophers leap in the tall grasses and fledglings peep from high-up nests, preparing to test their wings. The Unicorn King has a prize piece of land; it is indeed very fertile, beautiful, and gentle.

  I am surprised, however, when I hear a strange ruckus coming from between two large hillocks. Could this be another group of peasants, similar to those back in the Commoners’ Village, celebrating the royal engagement? But, no: I hear a loud banging, something mechanical perhaps, and several voices shouting back and forth to one another. I stray from the path to investigate.

  “Hello?” I call as I crest a hill and survey the scene. Down below I can see a large tunnel carved into one of the two hillsides. It is reinforced with heavy wooden beams, and I realize what I’m looking at is a mineshaft. There are a number of animal-men scurrying about, pushing mine-carts filled with rocks. They are all dressed more or less similarly, in denim overalls and hard-hats equipped with a short stub of a candle fixed to the front of each. I squint more closely to see what variety of animal these creature-beings are, and make out dark brown velvety fur, eyes that are so small as to be nearly invisible, whiskers, and a long, wet, pink snout. They are moles.

  “Ho! You there!” one calls, noticing me standing on the hill. “What business here?”

  I walk down the hill to approach him. His hard-hat is a different color from all the rest, and he holds a clipboard; he appears to be some kind of foreman. As I move closer, he gets a better look at me with his tiny, short-sighted eyes and winces.

  “Hold! Don’t come any closer!” he shouts in a defensive tone. “What nature of beast are you?”

  “I am a human girl,” I say. “I’m on my way to pay a visit to the Court of the Unicorn,” I pause, and then add, “to pay my respects regarding his royal engagement.”

  “A human girl! My word,” the foreman says. “I’ve never encountered one in the wild before. Was always told humans didn’t exist in these parts. Well, come closer, in that case — I’d like to be able to describe you to the missus later tonight. She’ll never believe me!”

  I move closer and wait patiently as the foreman puts his somewhat ugly mole-face up to mine, holding it very close and sniffing so that his whiskers tickle my face.

  “And you say you’re on your way to the Unicorn’s palace in the Capital City?” the mole-man asks, still busily inspecting me.

  “I am.”

  “My, my! Well, you’re in for a treat! Most beautiful city I’ve ever seen… so clean, so orderly, everything on time, all the people happy and friendly… it’s no wonder everyone loves the Unicorn King as they do.”

  I nod, and peer over his shoulder.

  “May I ask: What are you and all your workers doing?” I point to the mine.

  “What does it look like we’re doing? — we’re mining,” the foreman says.

  “You’re not celebrating the royal engagement today? Everyone else seems to be.”

  “It is a joyous development, to be sure! But everyone knows miners never take a day off from our work — not here in the north.”

  “I didn’t know there were so many mining operations in the Land of the Four Kings,” I say. “Or that there was a need for constant mining.”

  “Well, diamonds aren’t going to mine themselves, you know!” he replies gruffly.

  “That’s what you’re mining?”

  “Of course. The Unicorn King has diamond mining operations all over his kingdom. What do you think fills up the royal coffers? There’s been a real push lately, too, to double our production.”

  “Do you know why?” I ask.

  “Couldn’t say. I’m not in charge of spending the stuff, only digging it up. And my team is the best around, if I do say so myself!” He pauses, and reaches a long-nailed human finger up to scratch the side of his pink mole-nose. “Lately, though, trouble is… most of these mines have been picked clean. Hard to squeeze anything out of ‘em anymore. Spent a lot nights up with the mis
sus this year, fretting about what we’d do if it turned out I was out of a job.”

  “That does sound stressful,” I say.

  “‘Course, that worry will go away if we ever get permission to dig in the neutral zone.”

  “The Glade of Commoners?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That place is teaming with un-mined diamonds, but no one could ever touch ‘em because they were in the neutral zone.”

  I don’t reply; I’m too busy absorbing all this news and mulling it over.

  “Well,” he says, “enough babbling for me. As rare as it is to meet a human, you’d better be on your way to those celebrations, and I’d better get back to work,” the mole says. “Gotta keep close count of our production numbers!” He taps the clipboard with a finger. Then he walks away, shaking his head with incredulity. “Can’t wait to tell the missus over supper tonight that I saw a real, live human today!”

  He turns back, nods and waves, and I return the gesture. I make my way back to the main road. Interesting, I think: If my guess is correct about the four playing card suits, the Unicorn King’s crest should be diamonds. And now, here I find he orders his people to mine actual diamonds, which seems rather literal, if you ask me.

  After I pass the mine, I walk a little further, and the road begins to hug a beautiful babbling brook. It is very picturesque and pleasant, walking along to the sounds of a hundred tiny waterfalls. The road leads through more rolling hills, and finally, as I crest the tallest of them, the Unicorn King’s castle comes into sight. Seeing it, I gasp and stop dead in my tracks.

  It is unlike anything I have ever seen.

  The Raven King’s castle was a dark, mysterious Victorian-looking structure. The Lion King’s castle looked like an exotic, Arabian palace. The Snake King’s castle looked like a rickety old Southern plantation house, majestic yet rapidly decaying.

  The Unicorn King’s castle, however, defies human description altogether. At least — it is difficult to describe using the familiar phrases that might be applied to any of the architectural styles known back home in the lands I’ve known: America and Europe. I gaze at it, taking it in. The castle sits upon a small, lone, mountain. Within its walls is an entire city — clean-looking and shiny — that wraps around the mountain. At the top, the palace juts into the sky like a piece of sharp, futuristic glass. The entire structure catches the light of the morning sun, gleaming so bright as to nearly blind onlookers. Strangely enough, it looks more like a skyscraper or a perhaps even a glass cathedral (if there were such a thing) than a castle. There is something unreal, almost imaginary about it… it is both ancient looking and futuristic, like a science-fiction illustrator’s rendition of an alien castle on another planet.

  The moat around the castle isn’t quite a moat. It appears shallow — perhaps only a foot or two deep, but is extremely wide; it rings the palace, as though the castle were an island amid a perfectly circular lake, adding on a good half-mile to the radius of the castle’s already sizable grounds. The water is very clean, and sparkles gold and turquoise under the sun’s rays. The sky over the whole city is a perfect periwinkle.

  The road ends here, and I begin to cross the long, flat bridge that spans the enormous shallow moat. I jump when I notice the bridge, too, is made of glass. The optical illusion this produces is dizzying on the eye; it is as if I am walking on water, suspended above a clean, shallow lake.

  When I reach the palace gates, I notice two large diamond patterns carved into a sparkling door: The final suit in the playing deck.

  “Who goes there?” a guard cries. I look and see two very tall, intimidating men with stag heads, both of them with intimidatingly broad, sharp-looking, branches of antlers. They carry sleek, skinny rifles, and wear strange, very minimal black military uniforms with little embellishment save a white armband emblazoned with a single black diamond.

  “My name is Anaïs Reynard,” I say. “I’m a friend of Fenric Fletcher — the fox. I’ve come to pay my respects to the Unicorn King upon his nuptials.”

  He looks me over.

  “Come all the way from the Court of the Snake King, have you? Welcome, but I’m afraid all the land wishes to pay their respects to the Unicorn King, given his recent festive news. You will have to use the Commoners’ Gate, and get in a very long line.”

  Discouraged by this, I stammer, “I didn’t come from the Court of the Snake King. I’m… well, I’m a human girl.”

  The second guard gives a grunt. “I doubt that.” He squints into my face with his deep brown stag eyes, and then gasps. “By the Harpy! I had a feeling there was something usual about this one,” he murmurs under his breath to the first guard. “She seemed even odder even than the Snake King’s most freakish subjects…”

  “You can call me all the names you like, but I am a human girl, and I am here to see the Unicorn King. And I wish to be admitted here,” I say, “at this gate.”

  “We didn’t mean to offend,” the first guard replies. “We will admit you. But we are a city of order, and for safety reasons, a human girl walking through the capital city would not be permitted… you will need an escort. Let us call for an ambassador to accompany you.”

  He disappears inside the gate, while the second stag stands guard. After ten minutes or so, the first guard reappears. Beside him is a man in colorful, elaborate, jewel-toned robes that — if not for their shimmering, brightly colored fabric — would be vaguely reminiscent of the Roman Empire. I can’t help but notice his disproportionately slim neck and head: The man has the head of a peacock.

  “Why, good day!” the peacock-man exclaims with a cawing voice. The crest of feathers atop his head quivers with excitement. His voice is so familiar as to imply he knows me. “Welcome, welcome to the great and noble Northern Kingdom, Anaïs! Have they kept you waiting long? Oh, I do apologize!”

  “I’m sorry… have we met?”

  “No, but you are the human girl, Anaïs Reynard, isn’t that so?”

  “Yes,” I answer. “That’s me.”

  “Mr. Fletcher has sung your praises to anyone who would listen! All the nobles here in the Court of the Unicorn King have come to admire you greatly. Forgive my familiarity — I feel as though I know you!”

  “So, then… Mr. Fletcher is here, safe and sound?”

  “Of course, of course. Why, Mr. Fletcher is a local hero! We are ever so grateful to him.” The peacock begins to usher me through the gates, but once on the other side, he pauses, and appears horrified. “Wait a moment… I haven’t introduced myself, have I?”

  I shake my head.

  “Forgive me! You are the first human I’ve ever met in the flesh,” he says. He clears his throat and extends a human hand in my direction. Fittingly, perhaps, the hand is thin, and birdlike. “I am Ambassador Peabody.”

  “Ambassador Peabody?”

  “Yes; my specialty is in foreign relations, and… well, you can see how you would qualify, don’t you?” He chuckles at his own joke as we shake hands. “Now… if you’ll just come with me. We’ll make our way through the city to the palace, and I’ll show you to the royal hall where the King and Mr. Fletcher can be found.”

  I agree, and begin to follow him. We walk along a tidy street filled with commerce. I glimpse animal-headed creatures of all varieties pushing carts, selling their wares, cleaning the street. Several troops of children march by, keeping time with military precision.

  “You are very kind to escort me,” I say.

  “My pleasure,” Ambassador Peabody replies. “Of course, it’s also a question of security protocol.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “Well, as you can see, ours is a most clean and orderly city. We can’t have foreigners roaming around in here, willy-nilly. And you — well, you are a human girl! An escort is best for everyone’s safety.”

  I fall silent again, returning my attention to the sights and sounds around me. After walking a little further, I realize: Everyone wears a sort of minimalis
tic uniform similar to the guards at the gate, only in different colors. I mention my observation to Ambassador Peabody.

  “The colors of people’s clothing… they seem grouped on purpose. Do they have meaning?”

  “Absolutely,” he replies. “The color of each individual’s uniform indicates each creature’s class status and occupation.” He smiles proudly. “It makes all social transactions very straightforward, and keeps everyone in his or her proper place. We’re all very happy here that way.”

  We pass a wall painted with a large portrait of what looks to be a majestic white horse with a tall horn. I notice a family of otter-headed creatures laying flowers at the foot of the portrait.

  “Is that the Unicorn King?” I ask, pointing to the larger-than-life portrait.

  “Yes,” the ambassador caws. “He is a great, great leader, and our citizens are grateful for the order and efficiency he has brought to our lives. The family you see there — the Ottingers — they are paying daily homage to our glorious King. It is a routine privilege in which every citizen participates.”

  We walk on, the road continuing its steady trajectory of winding upwards, curling around the mountain like a snail-shell with the palace at the center. There are shop-fronts and houses and schools, governing offices and guard stations. Every forty paces or so is marked by another portrait of the Unicorn King. Love for the King is, I realize, the local religion.

  We pass another troop of children marching in precision.

  “They are so disciplined,” I remark.

  “Yes — don’t they look smart? Children here are brought up with good values, proper nutrition, and strict discipline. They participate in an excellent program whereby they all do military service at a very young age. It is amazing what wonderful citizens they turn out to be!”

  Ambassador Peabody is clearly proud of his home, and I can’t help but notice that his peacock strut grows increasingly showy as we continue along. Finally, we reach the castle itself and I marvel to see it up close.

  “It was constructed almost entirely of diamonds, steel, and glass,” Peabody says when he sees me ogling. Then he turns to address two regal-looking, quail-headed guards. “Good day, gentlemen,” he greets them. “I am escorting this foreigner to the king.”