The Rock of Ivanore

by Laurisa White Reyes

  Even before he saw her, he knew he wasn’t alone. He turned and there she was, standing right beside him, her long, flaxen hair billowing in the breeze. She was a stranger to him, yet somehow familiar.

  “Are you my angel?” he asked. The woman smiled at him, but her eyes betrayed a profound sadness. She lifted her arm and unfolded the fingers of her hand, bidding Marcus to take the object that lay there. As he did so, he immediately recognized its triangular shape and blue-green hue.

  “Kelvin’s pendant?” He was puzzled. “Why are you giving me this?” But the woman did not answer. Her form faded into a soft white mist that rose above the meadow and floated away over the treetops. As Marcus watched her go, he raised his hand to shield his eyes from the blinding light.

  * * *

  Morning broke with the sun peeking through the cluster of tree trunks, spilling golden beams on the faces of those who slept. Marcus stirred and listened to the chorus of birds calling to one another and to the rhythmic crash of high tide. Although he still felt physically weak from the night before, his energy of spirit had returned.

  Nearby, Jayson stoked a fire around which several children had gathered to warm themselves. The flames’ brilliant glow seemed harsh against the softer light of day-break.

  “Well, well! He’s not dead after all,” said Jayson, grinning.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Marcus replied, yawning. The memory of the previous night’s events came back to him like a tidal wave.

  “Kelvin . . .” he began anxiously.

  “He’s sleeping soundly.” Jayson nodded toward the young man curled up on the earth beside the nearest tree. “You never told me you could perform miracles.”

  “He’s all right?”

  “Not a scratch. Just worn out. Both of you. You didn’t move an inch all night. For a while, I thought you were dead.”

  Marcus laughed a little. “So did I,” he said. As he tried to stand, a sharp pain shot through him, and he nearly collapsed. Jayson hurried to his side and offered his arm for Marcus to lean on.

  “You should rest. That wound in your shoulder needs time to heal.”

  “I’m fine, really,” answered Marcus, wincing as he stood. “Just a little stiff, that’s all.”

  Jayson helped Marcus to the campfire, where he sat among a circle of children who were finishing their breakfasts. On seeing the one who saved them, they gathered around him, clinging to his arms and legs and bestowing upon him endless hugs and kisses. Marcus laughed with delight.

  “All right, all right,” he said. “Back to your mothers now. We’ll be returning to the village soon.”

  Marcus felt impatient to share his dream of the night before with Jayson and was glad when they were finally alone. He described every detail of what he had seen: of the light, the angel, and her gift to him. He also told of how he had hidden himself in Fredric’s council chambers and what he had seen there.

  “I saw your crystal, the one Ivanore gave you, and I knew I had seen it before.” Holding Kelvin’s pendant out to Jayson, he went on. “I think you should have this.”

  Jayson took the pendant in his hand. “This is part of Ivanore’s royal seal,” he said, brushing his fingers over its surface. “Where did you get this?”

  Marcus hesitated to respond. He sensed from Jayson’s voice that this shard of Celestine had renewed a failing hope within him. He knew how far Jayson had come to find his family, and he feared the answer would be more than he could bear. However, Marcus could only speak the truth. “It belongs to Kelvin,” he said. “His mother gave it to him—before she died.”

  Jayson’s expression changed to one of bewilderment, then to shock, and finally to grief. “She really is gone then,” he said, his eyes betraying the sorrow within him. Rising to his feet, he walked to the trees, pausing briefly to gaze on Kelvin’s sleeping form. Then, continuing on, he slipped into the grove and disappeared from sight.

  Sixty-three

  arcus laid another log on the fire. As the flames consumed the new wood, he noticed movement near the Fortress. Placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, he called out, “Who’s there?” But to his surprise and relief, three familiar faces appeared. Tristan waved his arms and came running, with Zody and Clovis following close behind.

  “Marcus, you’re all right!” said Tristan.

  Marcus embraced his friends and invited them to sit down beside the fire.

  “The men in the village told us where we could find you,” explained Clovis.

  “How are the villagers?” asked Marcus, his voice low so the children would not hear.

  “Very well, actually,” said Tristan. “I’m sorry to say that most of the casualties were among the Agorans.”

  “The good news is that there are even more Hestorians to cremate,” interjected Zody.

  Tristan continued. “We were sent to fetch the families of the dead so they could pay their respects to their sons and fathers.”

  “And Kaië, the young woman I had you follow, how is she?” asked Marcus, not wanting to appear overly concerned.

  “Actually,” said Zody, “she’s right behind us.”

  Marcus turned his head toward the Fortress. The sun had risen above the trees now, and he saw a young woman running toward him.

  “Kaië!” called Marcus. He felt elated to be in her presence once again

  Kaië stopped at the fire, out of breath. She rested a moment before speaking. “I’ve come with a message. Lord Fredric requests the presence of Jayson and company. He wants to speak with Dokur’s protectors.”

  “Jayson’s gone down to the shore,” Marcus told her. With a quick thanks, Kaië continued on through the grove toward the sea.

  * * *

  Kaië slowed her pace as she neared the edge of the grove. The new day was clear, and the cool air felt invigorating. She continued past the rocks toward the shore. Removing her sandals, she let her feet sink in the soft, fine sand.

  Her stomach was taut with anticipation. Every day for fifteen years she had come to the sea in hopes of seeing Jayson’s ship on the horizon. But instead of Jayson, the sea had brought war. But it was over now. Freedom was so near she could smell it on the breeze.

  She found him sitting on a dune, his arms wrapped around his knees, gazing toward the horizon. On seeing him, Kaië caught her breath. Then she broke into sobs and fell on her knees.

  “Master Jayson!” she cried.

  Jayson turned to see who had called his name. He immediately stood and went to her. Taking her by the shoulders, he gently lifted her to her feet. Then he brushed away her tears with his hand.

  “Kaië,” he said with the tenderness of a father. “My little Mouse, how you’ve grown.”

  Kaië embraced him. “I’ve waited so long,” she said. “I can hardly believe you’re real!”

  “Believe it, for I am real. But this island brings me only sad memories. I’ll be leaving as soon as I can acquire a ship.”

  “But I have a message for you,” said Kaië, “from Lady Ivanore.”

  Jayson shook his head. “There is no need for that now. Ivanore is dead.”

  The words brought more tears to Kaië’s eyes. “Somehow, I’ve known it for many years. But she made me promise to deliver her message, and so I shall.”

  “All right,” said Jayson, too exhausted in body and spirit to argue. “What is your message?”

  “Ivanore wanted you to come to her.”

  “Come to her where?”

  “To the house of your father.”

  Jayson’s expression grew melancholy. “I cannot go,” he said, turning his face to the sea. “Not now.”

  Kaië understood Jayson’s reluctance. He had lost everything, sacrificed everything that was dear to him. But hadn’t she as well? Hadn’t she given fifteen years of her life waiting for this moment? She would never be free as long as she was bound by her promise. Now that Jayson stood before her, she would not let anything or anyone stand between her and freedom.

 
“She was always kind to me,” Kaië recalled wistfully. “I secretly called her mother. Sometimes she would tell me stories of something called freedom. I did not know what it meant, being as young as I was, but the thought of having it thrilled me just the same.

  “When Ivanore left the Fortress that night so many years ago, I followed her in shadow. I wanted more than anything to escape, as well. When she discovered my presence, Ivanore embraced me. She told me through her tears that I could not follow. It was too dangerous. And though I clung to her skirt and pleaded with her to change her mind, she would not be swayed.

  “‘I must go alone,’ she said. ‘Stay here in the village. Tell no one who you are or what you have seen. When Jayson returns, tell him where to find me. Then you will be free.’”

  Kaië’s voice trailed off. A damp mist blew up from the sea, infusing the air with the scent of saltwater. She took Jayson’s hand in hers and lifted it to her face. The tears on her cheeks moistened his fingers. “I swore an oath to accept nothing less than your vow that you would go to her,” she said. “I must fulfill my promise by receiving yours.”

  There was silence as Jayson studied the empty space in front of him. After several moments, his expression softened. “I give my word,” he told Kaië. “I will go.”

  Sixty-four

  hen Jayson and Kaië returned to the grove near the Fortress, Kelvin was awake and eating breakfast by the dying fire.

  “How do you feel?” asked Jayson.

  Kelvin stretched out his arms, leaning forward then sideways. “I’m better than ever before,” he said, “thanks to Marcus.”

  Marcus poured a bucket of seawater over the coals. Kelvin’s comments made him feel uncomfortable, yet he was glad his friend was alive. There was no need ever to tell him of the true sacrifice he had been willing to make.

  “Kaië says we’re to meet with Lord Fredric,” said Marcus, averting attention from himself. “We’d better get going.”

  As Kaië led Marcus and the other boys toward the Fortress, Jayson took Kelvin by the arm, holding him back. “I think this belongs to you,” he said, holding out Kelvin’s pendant.

  Kelvin took it and placed it around his neck.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t think I would live to see another day. I wanted Marcus to have it if I didn’t.” Kelvin hesitated as though he wanted to say something more. “I owe you an apology,” he said finally.

  “Apology? For what?”

  “For doubting you. For distrusting you because you are—”

  “Agoran.” Jayson finished the sentence, and Kelvin lowered his gaze, ashamed. “No apology is needed, Kelvin. Trust and respect must be earned. I hope I have earned yours.”

  Kelvin looked up into Jayson’s gray eyes and smiled. They continued walking toward the Fortress, though slowly and at some distance behind the others.

  “Your shard of Celestine, do you know its history?” asked Jayson. “Other than that your mother gave it to you.”

  Kelvin shook his head.

  “The woman who owned it was quite beautiful,” continued Jayson. “Long ago her husband was forced to leave her, but they swore that one day they would find each other again. She took her Celestine pendant and broke it into two pieces, giving her husband one half and keeping the other half for herself.”

  While Jayson spoke, Kelvin held the fragment of Celestine in his hand and traced the jagged edges with his eyes. “That woman was my mother,” he said. He looked up, searching Jayson’s face for answers to questions that had plagued him for a lifetime. “How do you know so much about her?”

  Jayson withdrew the smooth semicircle of Celestine from his pouch and held it up. “Because,” he said, “she gave me the other half.”

  Sixty-five

  he Fortress gate had been left unguarded except for one soldier. His armor was dull and splattered with mud, but his countenance was proud. When Marcus, Kelvin, and the others approached him, they were met with an enthusiastic greeting. “Welcome,” said the guard. “Lord Fredric is expecting you.”

  He led them through the gate and up a wide flight of granite steps to a pair of arches as tall as three men. Marcus gazed up in wonder as they passed into a great hall floored in white marble. Their footsteps echoed against the walls decorated with ornate tapestries and oil canvases depicting royalty from eras gone by. They passed by the door to Fredric’s council chambers and the passage to the prisons far below. The shattered door still lay in pieces on the floor.

  The guard continued up a second stairway that curved its way around the perimeter of the room to the second floor. Two more guards stood at attention before a massive, intricately carved mahogany door, the same door Marcus and Kaië had gone through during their earlier escape. He scanned the floor for any sign of the key but found only a red smear of blood. Grief clutched at Marcus as he recalled how Bryn had given his life to save them.

  The door swung open on enormous brass hinges. Beyond it lay a red plush carpet edged in gold embroidery. The guard bowed and waved his hand over the carpet, indicating that he wished Marcus and his companions to walk ahead of him. They found themselves in the cavernous throne room. Despite the present crowd, the room was bathed in silence.

  They made their way down the carpeted path that led through the center of the room to where Lord Fredric stood waiting. Bedecked in his finest robes, Fredric looked magnificent, just the way Marcus imagined a ruler should. However, Marcus still wished he were already back home in the fields of Quendel.

  When they reached the throne, Jayson knelt on one knee. Marcus and the others followed his example.

  Fredric motioned for them to rise. “Please, it is I who should be honoring you, and so I shall.” Fredric snapped his fingers and a guard came forward, bearing a shallow wooden chest in his arms. “For coming to the aid of Dokur and for placing the lives of my people ahead of your own, I bestow upon you, Jayson of Agora, and those who accompany you, a treasure of immeasurable worth.”

  The guard unlatched the chest and lifted the lid. A collective gasp rose from the crowd. There, bedded in black velvet, were seven faceted Celestine stones each mounted in a silver ring.

  “These gemstones are worth a small fortune,” continued Fredric. “Few can afford to buy such treasures. But their value is nothing compared to the gift that you have given Dokur. Thus I, along with the entire realm, honor you.”

  The crowd broke into raucous applause and cheering. Fredric held up his hand to regain silence.

  “For the Cyclopes and Agorans who showed such sacrifice and courage on our behalf, I cannot think of a better way to show my gratitude than to give you my solemn pledge to grant them their freedom and to reinstate to them ownership of the land of their forefathers.”

  Again the crowd cheered. When the cheering subsided, Jayson, visibly moved by Fredric’s homage, asked permission to speak. Fredric nodded.

  “My Lord,” he began, “long have I been separated from the land of my birth. Not a day has passed that I have not thought of it and of the family I left behind. I had hoped, upon my return, to be reunited with my wife, your beloved daughter Ivanore. However,” and here the emotion he felt threatened to overwhelm him, “I have learned such hope is futile since my beloved lives no more.”

  On hearing this news, Fredric bowed his head. Though he had long suspected that his daughter was dead, the finality of it sent a cold chill through his heart.

  “The sorrow I feel is beyond expression,” continued Jayson. “Yet it is with great joy that I announce that I have found my son.”

  A hush swept through the room like the receding tide. Jayson reached for the boy standing to his left. “Lord Fredric, I present to you the son of Ivanore, your grandson, Kelvin Archer of Quendel.”

  The crowd gasped in surprise. From the corner of his eye, Marcus saw the look of disbelief on Clovis’s and the other boys’ faces. Kaië was so happy she nearly burst into tears.

  A cry of protest resonated through the room. Chancellor Prost
approached the throne and wagged a bony finger in Kelvin’s face. “Impossible!” he yelled. “This boy is an imposter! If Ivanore is dead, her child must be dead as well!”

  “Kelvin is our son!” Jayson contended.

  “To say this boy is Ivanore’s son is to lay claim to Lord Fredric’s throne and the control of the entire realm! There must be evidence, testimony.”

  “You want evidence?” replied Jayson. “Here it is, then.”

  He reached into his pouch. “Fifteen years ago Ivanore broke her seal and gave me half,” he said, holding up his half-circle of Ivanore’s Celestine medallion. Then Kelvin removed his pendant and held it up, as well. Jayson continued. “The boy has carried this shard with him his entire life.”

  “Where did you get that?” shouted Prost.

  “It was my mother’s,” Kelvin answered, “my mother, Lady Ivanore.”

  Jayson placed the two pieces together. The fit was perfect. Only a small section of the seal was still missing. Yet Prost’s anger only intensified.

  “Fredric,” he cautioned with a severe gaze. “You once vowed no half-breed would rule this land! You swore on your very life that this child would never live to be heir! Say the word, and I will have the guards seize him!”

  “Silence!” Fredric shouted at Prost. “Fifteen years ago I heeded your advice to exile Jayson and my only son! That decision has brought me only misery and regret. I will hear no more of your counsel today!”

  Prost ground his teeth in anger but said no more.

  Fredric rose from his throne and stepped forward. Marcus noticed that his lips trembled and his eyes were moist with tears. Fredric took Kelvin and embraced him, weeping as he did so. “My boy,” he cried, “my beloved grandson!”

  Sixty-six

  hen the ceremony ended, Marcus and the other boys followed Jayson to the courtyard. Preparations had been made for their return trip to Quendel. They were given fresh horses, plentiful food, and warm blankets. Marcus looked forward to seeing Zyll again and to getting back to his studies. He wondered, too, what awaited him and the others there. Would they all receive the same reward? There was only one Rock of Ivanore, and it rightfully belonged to Kelvin. Surely, though, all their efforts would be given due recognition. Marcus decided not to trouble himself about that now. He was too anxious to be on his way home.