Lights and Shadows (The Prisoner and the Sun #2)

by Brad Magnarella

  The inside of the tent was dim and calming. Columns of hewn posts supported the huge canvas that fluttered around them. Plain rugs and wood shavings covered the floor. One section of the tent, which Iliff guessed to be sleeping quarters, was curtained off.

  The King led Iliff around an important-looking bench that formed almost a full circle and occupied the entire middle of the tent. They proceeded to a long table in the rear. A young man and woman approached from a stove, carrying bowls of cream-colored soup and a large basket of flat bread. “Sire,” they said to the King, bowing and pulling out a chair for him. They turned and did the same for Iliff, though he did not know what a sire was, nor, in that moment, did he much care. The nearness of food that was not sodden catfish had aroused his hunger to the point of faintness; the warm scent of it rendered him nearly oblivious. He was beyond grateful when the King suggested they eat before speaking.

  * * *

  “I must apologize for the behavior of my half-brother,” the King said when they had finished. “He is not a bad man, but he is hasty to judgment. But I am also curious to know where you come from and what you are doing in these lands. You’re the first person we’ve seen.”

  Iliff leaned back as the man and woman cleared the table. He had eaten three bowls of the soup, the King signaling for a fresh one each time he mopped up the one before it. It was only out of courtesy that Iliff declined a fourth.

  Looking on the King’s gentle face now, he considered what he would say and how he should say it.

  “I come from a swamp,” he spoke at last, “where I was lost for some years. I was forced there by a fire that ravaged a distant forest in which I was traveling. Before that I lived… in a place of stone.”

  “Your crown.” The King nodded to Iliff’s bag. “You were a ruler once?”

  “No. The crown was a gift. I rule no one and nothing.”

  “But you have all the markings of a ruler, do you not?” the King said. “Your great height, the silver threads in your hair—surely you heard the whisperings of my guards. And you show no color, not even under threat. This can only mean that you have attained mastery over your moods.”

  Iliff thought of all of his failings of the last years: leaving the path at the outset, becoming lost in the mines, lusting after gold, releasing Troll into the world and then failing to govern him.

  “I assure you that I am master of nothing.”

  “Have you been traveling alone?”

  “Yes,” he lied. “Alone.”

  The King nodded. Though Iliff could feel the man’s presence near his thoughts, it was a comforting presence, unobtrusive. Nothing like Lucious’. The King’s face turned grave.

  “We have something in common then,” he said. “We were driven out by fire as well. Nearly a year ago. The Garott broke a long-honored truce. Their forces swarmed from the Hinterlands and overwhelmed us. They had help on the inside, though I learned of it too late. Our kingdom was sacked, our lands, our livelihoods, seized. Many were killed.” The King’s eyes became heavy. “The queen amongst them.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “Those of us who made it out fled to a sanctuary in the woods. We found ourselves widows and widowers of a sudden, without children, without parents, without those we had long loved. I found Skye and Stype there, oh blessed Fortune. Their governess had fled with them in time. But there were others who lost everyone. We began moving that night, our only resolve to get as far from those lands as we could. Fire rose from the fortress behind us, staining the skies red. The Garott pursued us for a time, but we eventually escaped their reach.” The King cleared his throat. “Lucious believed you to be spying for them.”

  “Oh, no, I—”

  “I know,” the King said, raising his hand. “That was clear from the moment Skye told me about you.”

  Iliff looked around. “And so you’ve settled here?”

  “No,” the King said. “Not yet, anyway. I’ve sent out scouts to discover whether we are indeed alone. If this proves so, there is a bluff across the lake where we will site the new keep and township. The lands are fertile, the grazing fields vast and trees plenty. We should do well. Our only desire is for peace and a modest prosperity. That does not seem too much to ask.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  The King sat back and studied Iliff’s face. “I understand that a kelpie inhabits these waters,” he said. “And one that seems to favor you.”

  Uncertain how to interpret the King’s interested look, Iliff lowered his gaze.

  “No, no, this is a good omen,” the King said. “Especially should you choose to remain with us.”

  Chapter 6

  Skye showed Iliff around the camp that afternoon. Word had spread quickly of his arrival, and now men and women came forward to greet him. They bade him sit outside their tents where they offered him a hot, refreshing drink they called lenk. As the day progressed, more and more people gathered. They asked Iliff many questions and stood watching him with open faces and rapt blue eyes. Children took turns climbing on and off his lap to touch his dark hair.

  Iliff was careful with the words he chose. He said that he was from a place of stone, but did not reveal that he had been a prisoner. He spoke of distant travels and fire and having to flee, but he did not tell them that he had been seeking the Sun. And he said nothing at all of Troll.

  If the people noticed his omissions, they did not show it on their faces. But Iliff did not think they noticed. They were a gentle, trusting people. They told their own stories in turn, crushing tales of loss and flight. The tales grayed their voices and colors, and shook Iliff. But they were also a resilient people, Iliff saw, determined to rebuild and resettle, to enjoy what days remained to them without want or conflict. Iliff warmed when they spoke in this way, for it was what he wanted as well.

  On their walk back to the large tents, Skye took Iliff’s hand in both of hers. “So you’ll be staying with us now?” she asked.

  Iliff began to laugh, but when he noticed her solemn gaze, he stopped. “Your father is a good man,” he said. “And you are plainly good people. But I’m afraid I don’t have an answer. Not yet.”

  “When will you know?”

  “By tomorrow’s meeting of the Assembly,” Iliff said. “That’s what I told your father.”

  The space around Skye dimmed and Iliff could see her sadness. He had seen traces of it in all of the men and women he had met that day, sprinkles of ash over their clean colors. But this was the first time he had seen it in one of the children. The sight troubled him. He stopped and knelt before her.

  “I just need the night to think on it,” he said. “Is that all right?”

  When she spoke again, her voice sounded faraway.

  “I do hope you decide to stay.”

  * * *

  That night Iliff paced inside the tent that had been set up for him. He listened to the families bedding down in the tents around him, bidding each other safe and quiet sleep. He listened to the regular footfalls of the guards.

  He was grateful to be among people again, so very grateful. But a life spent among them? It was the very thing he had once been so set on avoiding. He was no longer seeking the Sun, no, but what of his past encounters with people? What of the round man, the heartsick woman, the hunter? Sun or no Sun, the encounters had caused him to become lost or ruined, or nearly so. And each one had led to despair, just as Adramina had promised.

  But these people are different, he told himself. They are good.

  Iliff sat on his bedding and closed his eyes. He saw Skye’s faltering colors, the grayness of them, the sadness. And in the next instant he heard Lucious’ sharp voice: There is darkness in him. There is destruction.

  And with this he understood. He understood his hesitation. There was darkness in him. What else explained his years in the mines? What else explained his friendship with Troll? A bond that had unleashed death and destruction on the world. Terrible destruction. And so it was not for himself that he
feared, but for these good people. He did not want to be adrift again, but neither could he risk bringing more harm to them. Least of all to their children.

  He sat on his bedding for a long time. It was not until well after midnight that he arrived at a decision.

  * * *

  The guards that ringed the King’s tent the following evening showed Iliff inside. He blinked before the sudden light. A string of lanterns shone over the large circular bench where Assembly members now sat. Iliff’s eyes soon picked out the King in his noble white surcoat, one arm raised toward the tent’s entrance in hail.

  “Iliff,” the King called. He came over and took Iliff’s arm. “I’ve made no announcement,” he whispered. “Here, this way.”

  The King led Iliff inside the bench, where he introduced him to the Assembly members in turn. The twelve men and women represented the community’s occupational classes: farmers, fishermen, weavers, brickmakers, blacksmiths, lumbermen, artisans, tanners, tailors, builders, and healers. One member was the senior captain of the guard, but he did not look to Iliff like any of the guards from the prison. Horatio was slender and light-haired with a ruddy nose and cheeks. He clasped Iliff’s hand and exuded strong, sincere colors.

  The King brought Iliff before Lucious last.

  “You have met my half-brother,” the King said. “Lucious is our master blacksmith.”

  Lucious looked from the King to Iliff. Though his gaze promised violence, he made no move to penetrate Iliff’s mind. At least not now, thought Iliff. Not with the King beside me.

  The King showed Iliff to a seat on the bench beside his own, and the meeting began. Each Assembly member rose and spoke in turn. The head farmer, a solid blonde-hued man, reported on the good status of the animals and food stores. An elderly woman with strong, slender fingers reported that the tailors continued to meet the community’s clothing needs. She commended the weavers for their industry and the quality of their textiles. Next stood Horatio, the senior captain, who announced that there was no sign of the Garott, or any imminent danger, for that matter.

  When Lucious’ turn came, his voice was haughty and thick with challenge.

  “We are short of metals,” he said. “And for this our weapon stock is low. Some guards are without suitable arms, and the militia has next to nothing. If we don’t find ore in short order, we’ll have to begin confiscating tools to be melted. Spades and shovels.”

  There was general dimming among the other members of the Assembly.

  “Thank you, Lucious.” The King rose to his feet. “Thank you, members of the Assembly. I have news that will speak to Lucious’ concerns—to all of our concerns, in fact. Good news. I received word today from our scouts that the lands around the lake are not peopled. No one claims dominion over them. The closest settlements are remote, and small at that. They will not be any trouble to us. In fact, they expressed an interest in trading.”

  The Assembly members brightened and spoke their enthusiasm. Several of them embraced and some even shed tears. All celebrated except for Lucious, who remained in his seat, arms folded.

  “As such,” the King continued, “we will have a greater need for tools at this time than weapons.” He glanced over at his half-brother, who appeared to be deciding whether or not to rise in challenge. “We will begin moving within the fortnight. We will go to work right away. The farmers will need to begin drawing their fields, the lumbermen felling trees, the brickmakers burning bricks. We will plan all of this in the coming days. In the meantime, let Lucious know what tools you require. And do not worry, Lucious, we will find you the resources you need.”

  Lucious stared hard at the King.

  “My other news,” the King said, opening his arm toward Iliff, “is that our friend here, delivered unto these lands by Fate and blessed Fortune, has chosen to remain with us. He will be here to help us resettle and rebuild, and for long after, we hope. Let us welcome him, then. Let us welcome our new friend, the newest member of our family. He is called Iliff.”

  The Assembly members had scarcely begun beaming and welcoming him when Lucious sprang howling to his feet.

  “No!” His burnt skin radiated heat. “No, this I will not tolerate!”

  “That is quite enough, Lucious,” the King said.

  “He is not one of us.”

  “We have discussed this.”

  Lucious ignored the King. He turned to the Assembly. “I have seen inside him.”

  “Yes,” the King said. “You uncovered by force what he has freely told the rest of us. You saw fire, I gather? You saw a man lost in a swamp? How can you say, then, that he is not one of us? Were we not driven out by fire? Have our sorrows not been threatening to drown us like the thickest mire? And now, just as he has been delivered, so we are being delivered.” And then gently, “Why can you not embrace him in this spirit?”

  “Because I don’t embrace creatures who come in dark and stinking from the swamp.”

  “Enough,” said the King.

  “Because I don’t embrace liars.”

  “Lucious!”

  “Why do I not embrace him? For the same reason that I would not embrace your trusted advisor.”

  The King’s eyes glowered for a moment, then fell somber. The Assembly members lowered their heads and an uneasy silence descended. Lucious opened his mouth, then appeared to think better of it. He lowered himself to his seat.

  “It’s just that we’ve suffered much,” Lucious mumbled.

  The King continued to look on the space where his brother had stood. Iliff saw him draw his left thumb to the underside of his fourth finger, saw him touch a silver band there. At last the King cleared his throat.

  “If there is nothing else,” he said, “then we shall adjourn for the evening.”

  Iliff rose to his feet and looked around uncertainly. “I’d like to say a few words,” he said. “If I may.”

  The King nodded. “Of course.”

  As the Assembly members settled back onto the bench and looked up, Iliff became conscious of just how much he towered over them.

  “I… I understand your concerns,” Iliff said. “I do. I would have the same concerns were I in your position. The same fears. After all, I am a stranger. I am an outsider. Who’s to say what my intentions are? Who’s to say whether I tend toward darkness or light? You have only my account.”

  Lucious nodded his head vigorously.

  “And yet your King shows great faith in me, and for this I’m humbled. It speaks to his goodness, to the goodness of you all. It is only right then that I pledge to you here what I have already pledged to your King. I say, should it ever be decided that my presence endangers your peace, your way of life, I will depart at once, never again to set foot on your lands. I will be like a leaf fallen on a swift river. Like a memory fast receding. I give you my word on this.”

  “His word,” muttered Lucious.

  “But I know that is not enough. For such a pledge requires only that one shut his mouth and sit on his hands. Thus comes my second pledge to you. I say, I will do anything and everything I can to build up your community, to promote your peace and prosperity, and to defend these in the face of threat. Should I so much as falter here, I will leave. But I do not intend to falter, as you do not intend on faltering. So long as I am here, our cause will be common.”

  The cheers of the Assembly rose and washed brilliantly over him, drowning out Lucious’ dark mutterings.

  At last the cheers subsided. “You applaud my words and I’m grateful,” Iliff said, feeling both heartened and abashed. “But do not judge me, good people, by what I tell you now. Wait to see my actions. Wait to find out whether they are as sincere as my words. Wait and judge me then.” He looked each of them in the eye, even Lucious. “I thank you for giving me this chance.”

  As Iliff went to sit, a familiar iciness pierced his mind. The intrusion was brief this time, too brief to even react to. But Iliff understood its message. It warned him that he would be watched, would be judged. A
nd when the fingers bit in before pulling out, Iliff understood that any transgression on his part would be dealt with—and dealt with severely.

  Chapter 7

  The community of Fythe, for this was what the people called themselves, moved in one long caravan. Some led loaded horses and oxen, shaggy red beasts with stout hooves and horns, but most bore their belongings on their backs or trundled them along in wheeled carts. They had begun breaking down the camp the day before, and now every person was well burdened. Even the smallest children carried loads enough to subdue their colors.

  Iliff, who was near the rear, pushed a cart filled with looms from the weaving workshop. He had declined the King’s offer to ride up front with him. “I must honor my pledge to the community,” he told him. “Give me whatever the others cannot carry.”

  The caravan, many hundreds of people long, filed around the lake’s edge. Their course went past the clearing where Iliff had slept his first night and across the river that drained from the swamp. A team had gone before them and built a timber bridge sufficiently broad and sturdy to bear the carts and animals. The caravan’s course continued along the far side of the lake where the damp woodland climbed into low hills. Other than a rest at mid-day, called by the guards for the people to eat and reorganize their loads, the caravan moved steadily.

  They emerged from the woods late in the day onto a wide yellow plain. People began to exclaim from the front of the line, causing those still in the woods to hoist their loads higher and hasten their steps. Even Iliff ran his cart uphill despite its great load. Soon all emerged to see that it was not just the plain of heather that had excited their fellows, but the great bluff at its far end. It rose in a rugged swell to preside over the lands before it and the great breadth of lake below.

  “See there!” the King called from his horse. “That is our destination! There is our new home!”

  Planners who had arrived days earlier directed families to their plots. The circles of staked-out land began near the base of the bluff and rolled out along winding tracks like buds on a vine. Men and women set up their tents and stoves, while children shed their packs and chased one another along the grassy lanes.