To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2)

by Jill Williamson

  This is the best seat I could find.

  Where am I supposed to sit?

  Stay where you are. You can see from there.

  Achan would much rather hide with Sparrow than stand in the doorway where someone might introduce him, possibly make him strip off his shirt and show his scarred back. He didn’t relish another bout of humiliation. Besides, he’d spent most his life under the tables in the kitchens of Sitna Manor, scavenging crumbs from the floor. He crawled under the table and sat on the inside of the table leg by Sparrow. He stretched out his long legs, though he had to hunch to keep his head from hitting the tabletop. A man’s legs dangled beside his face.

  Sparrow peeked around the table leg. How do your feet feel today?

  Better. I’m hungry. Achan pressed a hand to his stomach. Did you eat?

  No. Sparrow nodded toward the sideboard crammed full with bowls draped in cloths. Ressa cooked all morning. I think we are to eat after the service.

  Mmm. Achan studied the people in the room. Most were peasants or lower except for a well-dressed man beside Sir Gavin. The people chatted as if passing the time for a tournament to begin. A man and woman entered the front door, and Ressa greeted them with a smile. There’s so little room in this cottage, why do so many come here today? What exactly is this Teshuwah about? Do we parade to the temple?

  Teshuwah is our holy day. These people have come to worship Arman.

  Here? This is a dwelling of people, not a god.

  Arman has no temple besides his people.

  Achan wrinkled his nose. The temple was people? That made no sense.

  So many now filled the cottage that no surface remained bare. People stood along the walls, two deep in some places. Some men held children on their shoulders. The voices suddenly quieted, gazes drifting to the curtained doorway. Achan peeked out from under the table.

  Trajen entered the room dressed in a white hooded cloak over a white tunic with the same brown trousers he always wore. He walked to the entrance of the house and faced the room. This position not only gave him space, it made him visible to everyone.

  He lifted his arms high above his head. “And on the day called Teshuwah all who believe shall be gathered to one place, and the word of Arman will be spoken. Then we shall rise and pray. And when our prayers have been heard, we shall give praise and thanksgiving. Then we shall eat, for food brings nourishment to the body and celebration to the soul. We assemble on the Teshuwah because that’s the day Arman wrought a change in the hearts of men. That’s the day his son, Câan, rose from the tomb to give us Light.

  “For he was murdered by men, put in a dark tomb, and on the day of the Sun, which gives light and life, appeared to King Willham and his men and taught them all these things.”

  A chorus of agreement, “So be it” and “May it be so,” burst forth from the crowd. From somewhere Achan couldn’t see, one of the twins said, “Bite bite, Mima,” and the crowd chuckled.

  Trajen closed his eyes, inciting a hush in the room again. “In the beginning was Câan, and Câan was with Arman, and Câan was Arman. Câan was with Arman in the beginning. In him was life, and that life was the Light of men. The Light shone in the Darkness, but Darkness did not understand it.”

  A man above Achan grunted in agreement.

  “And in those days Er’Rets had no king; everyone did as he saw fit. The people forsook Arman to serve other gods. So Arman gave Er’Rets a king; his name was Echâd Hadar. He came as a witness to testify concerning that Light, so that through the Light all men might believe.”

  Trajen paused. “But the people did evil in the eyes of Arman and Darkness began to push away the Light.”

  A chill raked up Achan’s arms at the ultimate evil that had brought Darkness upon the land: killing Arman’s chosen, his father.

  “But Arman so loved his people that he gave his son, Câan, as a ransom for the transgressions of every man. He was buried in Noiz on the same day King Simal II breathed his last. Both men were buried that day. And to this day, the tomb of King Simal II remains sealed. But Câan’s tomb did not remain sealed. Three days later, Arman opened Câan’s tomb and raised him from the dead to sit at his right hand, a testament to what he longs to do in the life of men.”

  Achan had heard this tale many times over the years from Minstrel Harp in the Corner back in Sitna. It was a neat story, though he’d never heard it quite like this.

  “King Willham believed, and through the power of Câan, took hold of the Darkness and pushed it back. The battle ceased for a time. But many a king has come and gone since then. Some have obeyed the call of Arman. Some have answered the call of Darkness. For many did not recognize Câan as the source of all Light.”

  Câan was the source of all light? Might Achan need his help, then, if he was to push back Darkness? And wouldn’t his calling on Câan offend Arman?

  “Though many did not recognize him—including his own Kinsman people—those who did receive him, those who believed in his power, he gave the right to become children of Arman—children not born of natural descent or a husband’s will, but born of Arman.

  “For we know that Arman is light; in him there is no Darkness at all. If we claim to have fellowship with him yet walk with Darkness, we lie and do not live by the truth. But if we walk with the Light as Arman is in the Light, we have fellowship with one another, and the Blood of Câan, Arman’s son, purifies us from all evil, even in this dark place.”

  People yelled out “Praise Arman” and “May it be so.”

  Trajen opened his eyes and scanned the room. “For this reason, I’ve not stopped petitioning for all of you that Arman will fill you with the knowledge of his will, so you may live a life worthy of Arman and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of Arman.”

  A chorus of agreement, “So be it,” “May it be so,” and “As it has been said,” burst forth, only this time, the voices did not quiet. A woman’s voice broke into an upbeat song. Almost every soul in the room quickly joined in, Sparrow included.

  Er’Rets was lost in the darkness within.

  The Light of the world is Câan!

  Like sunshine at noonday his glory shone in.

  The Light of the world is Câan!

  No darkness have we who in Arman abide.

  The Light of the world is Câan!

  We walk in the light when we follow our Guide.

  The Light of the world is Câan!

  Ye dwellers in Darkness with tar-blinded eyes.

  The Light of the world is Câan!

  Go, wash, at His bidding and light will arise.

  The Light of the world is Câan!

  No need of sunlight in Shamayim we’re told.

  The Light of the world is Câan!

  For Câan is the Light in the city of gold.

  The Light of the world is Câan!

  The song ended in a heavy silence. Then a man started to sing from the table above.

  Come to the Light, ’tis shining for thee.

  Sweetly the Light has dawned upon me.

  Once I was blind, but now I can see.

  For Câan has brought Light that is free.

  The people sang this twice, then, on the third time through, a clear woman’s voice began a measure behind, leading several other women in a round. When the refrain finally ended, Trajen sang a phrase—nearly a chant. Everyone joined in.

  “Sh’ma Er’Rets, Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echâd, Arman hu shlosha be-echâd.”

  The words were the old language like what Sir Gavin and the knights had said in Barthos’ temple. How strange that so many would know this language. And what were they saying about Arman?

  When the singing ended, Trajen said, “Some of you may have noticed a few unfamiliar faces this day. We often welcome new followers into our fold, but today our guests have been walking with Arman for many years. We have heard of the deceit in Sitna and knew in our hearts it was true. Our promised king is not the evil man we th
ought him to be, but a man who, like Câan himself, was made a servant for his people, scorned and beaten, until Arman pulled him into the Light where all could see the truth.

  “We have with us this day Sir Gavin Lukos and his companions who are escorting the rightful heir to Er’Rets—the true Crown Prince, Gidon Hadar—north to safety. There they plan to raise support so the true king can return to Armonguard and proclaim Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echâd, Arman hu shlosha be-echâd, a truth so bright it will push back Darkness forever.”

  The crowd murmured. Achan shrank back against the wall under the table. He had expected an introduction, but who could live up to such words? He’d almost rather they strip him down and fawn over his birthmark.

  Boot steps clunked across the floor. The voices hushed so suddenly, Achan couldn’t help leaning forward to see what was happening. Just as he peeked out from under the table, a set of legs cast a shadow over his face. He glanced up to see Sir Gavin looking down into his eyes.

  Achan’s stomach rolled as he realized the crowd had been watching Sir Gavin.

  “’Tis true,” Sir Gavin said. “I found him once, and I’ll not lose him again, wherever he may hide himself.”

  The crowd chuckled and Sir Gavin reached down with his calloused hand. Achan clasped his wrist and allowed the old knight to hoist him to his feet.

  Sir Gavin clapped a hand on Achan’s shoulder. “Here stands King Axel Hadar’s only son. Here stands your future king. For in less than a year’s time, this young man will sit on the throne in Armonguard and bring an end to the Darkness.”

  The people burst into cheering.

  Less than a year? Achan tensed, yet couldn’t fight his own smile, so contagious was the joy on the faces around him.

  “A feast for our two kings!” Trajen yelled. “For this earthly king and our king who reigns in Shamayim!”

  “Hear, hear!” a man said and the people cheered again.

  Everyone moved at once. Those who’d been sitting on the table jumped down and put it back where it belonged. Ressa set one of the covered bowls on the table, and other women joined in to help. Sir Gavin guided Achan to the entrance. People clustered around, blocking his view of the food.

  A portly man with a wisp of black hair took Achan’s hand in both of his. “A pleasure and honor, Your Majesty.”

  “Thank you,” Achan said.

  Another man, stocky with a scarred face, pushed forward. “Say the word and I’ll fight with you, my prince.”

  “We’d be honored to have your sword.” Sir Gavin clasped the man’s shoulder. “Trajen will keep you posted as to where our army will assemble. Likely Carmine.”

  Achan’s stomach roiled again. They were truly going to build an army and fight against Esek? Good men like this, family men, might die for him? Before he could dwell on the matter, three more men pledged their swords for Achan’s sake.

  A pretty young red-haired girl curtsied before him. “My heart fills with hope to see your face, Your Highness. I can see you’re brave and strong. With you leading our men I know we shall not be in Darkness much longer.”

  Achan felt taller at her words. He bowed, took her hand, and kissed it. “Thank you, my lady. Your words inspire me to crush any enemy who would stand in my way.”

  The young woman’s face flushed. She tugged her hand free and stumbled back, her eyes locked with Achan’s until she sank into the crowd.

  Easy, Achan, Sir Caleb said. This is not a noblewoman who requires such courtesy.

  Heat crept up Achan’s neck. Well, why should that matter? You told me I had to act with dignity and respect in formal gatherings.

  Aye, but you must consider your subjects’ social class or you’ll start a scandal with every young maid you meet. These women are not used to such flattery and may take your words as more than they were.

  Achan met Sir Caleb’s critical gaze. But I meant what I said.

  The corners of Sir Caleb’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. I see I must teach you about women next.

  I know about women, thank you very much.

  Sir Caleb laughed out loud. Achan scowled. The knight looked quite mad laughing alone on the other side of the room.

  Trajen spoke in a loud voice, and Achan found the man standing at the head of the table now packed with steaming bowls of food. “We are one in heart and mind. We claim no possessions as our own, but share all we have. Darkness may surround us, but in our hearts, the Light is blinding. As we continue to testify to the love of Câan, truly there are none needy among us. For Arman provides our every need.” Trajen met Achan’s eyes and held out an arm, beckoning him forward. “Come, Your Highness, sit at our humble table and be filled.”

  Achan somehow managed to cross the room and sit on the stool at the head of the table. Thankfully, Trajen didn’t ask him to offer thanks the food, but said the words himself.

  “Arman, we thank you for your many blessings, for this food, fellowship, and the hope that dines with us this day. Let us break bread with glad and sincere hearts, praising you in all things. So may your will be, forever.”

  A chorus of “So be it” and “May it be so” erupted. The rest of Achan’s party was ushered to the table. Sir Caleb sat to Achan’s left, Sir Gavin to his right. Sparrow sat beside Inko on the other end.

  Bowls of steaming flatbread filled the table along with seasoned brown rice, cuts of chicken, diced tomatoes, wedges of apples and peaches, peas, steamed carrots, shredded lamb, and stacks of toasted trenchers. The aroma watered his tongue, but no one touched the food. Every face watched him.

  Ressa swept forward. She set a trencher in front of him, then arranged several pieces of flatbread on it, scooped rice, chicken, and tomatoes onto the flatbread, and rolled it up. She raised her eyebrows and smiled with a nod of her head. “Go ahead and eat, Your Majesty.”

  Achan lifted the rolled-up meal to his mouth and bit down on the rich and spicy mixture. He chewed, unhinged that everyone still stared. He smiled with his lips closed to hold in the food and said, “Mmm.”

  The crowd burst into cheers and applause. Achan kept himself busy chewing, eyes downcast. His approval of the meal seemed to be all everyone had been waiting for. People began filling their trenchers. Achan, happy to have the attention off him, glanced at Sparrow and found that the boy was the only person still staring. What?

  You did well. That must have been terrifying.

  Achan smiled. You think I’m going to have to do that every time we eat with strangers?

  Yes. I am afraid this will soon be how you eat for the rest of your life.

  Achan lowered his gaze to his plate. The first tradition to go if I ever sit on any throne. There’s no reason I should eat first, especially with everyone watching.

  It is meant to honor you.

  I don’t need to be honored. Though it was nice for Ressa to rescue me. If she hadn’t I might still be staring at the food.

  You only like her because she looks like…

  Achan stared at Sparrow, who’d looked away. Looks like who? Ressa resembled Gren in so many ways, but how could Sparrow know that? Achan had told no one.

  Not looks. She cooks like I suspect the king’s chef might.

  I don’t see you pushing the food away. Achan tucked his last bite of flatbread roll into his mouth and reached for another. You’re right, though. Vile, evil woman! How dare she feed us so well?

  Then why not ask her to join our group? She can be your personal chef.

  Achan scooped rice and lamb onto his second flatbread. Why don’t you eat, or better yet, talk to Inko. He hasn’t had the pleasure of your chiding conversation as much as I have. Go on then, share your wit with him a while.

  You spoke to me, not the other way—

  Achan blocked Sparrow out, rolled up his flatbread, and bit into it. He caught the boy’s slight frown and grinned. Having stronger bloodvoicing skill than Sparrow was fun.

  * * *

  Vrell reclined on the pillows in the front room
, holding Romal loosely so his feet touched the floor but he could bounce freely and not fall. The baby boy stared at her with wide, brown eyes. She made a face, puckering her lips and squinting. Romal giggled and bent his knees, his chubby cheeks dimpling.

  What a sweet creature.

  Ressa had handed the baby to Vrell so she could groom Achan. The two of them had been gone for a while. They were not alone, of course. Sir Gavin and the men were with Achan, discussing the plans to depart the city in the morning. Vrell felt excluded out in the front room. She had considered carrying Romal back there, but knew the little boy would cry the moment he saw his mother.

  Muffled voices rose in the hall. The curtain shifted, and Achan held it open for Ressa.

  Vrell rolled her eyes.

  “Bite, bite, Mima!” Romal squirmed, reaching for his mother.

  Ressa came straight over and swept him up. “Mima thinks it’s time for Romal to nap.”

  “Bite, bite.”

  “Yes, you may have dinner first, my sweet.”

  Ressa left from the room without another word. Achan fell onto the pillows beside Vrell. His hair hung loose around his face, but the ends had been trimmed, as had his scruffy facial hair, to keep up his shadow of a beard.

  “What?” Achan slapped Vrell lightly on the back of the head.

  She flinched and shied back. “You smell like rose water.”

  He smirked. “It’s not nearly so bad when a woman washes your hair.” He put his hand on Vrell’s ear and pushed her.

  She tipped onto her side, grunted, and struggled to sit upright again. “Stop.”

  Achan’s lips curved in a small smile. He snagged her arm, drew it behind her back, and grabbed her other wrist in the same hand. Then he flipped her over his lap and pushed her down to the floor. Her cheek slapped against the wood floor. Achan’s knee pressed into her back and squeezed the air from her body in a rush.

  “What are you doing?” She gasped in a quick breath. “Get off me!”