Hidden Magic

by Melinda Kucsera

  Here, at last, were trees. Some had striated trunks and feathery fronds such as were common in Sea Gate, and Robin wondered anew if they had not drifted back there. Other trees had oblong green leaves. Robin surmised the ones with woody trunks provided the timber that had been used in construction. A branch of one of the tallest trees shivered. Robin assumed a large bird had swooped down from high above and alighted on it.

  No artistry, architecture, or imagination had been applied in the settlement; the unpainted structures were of simple, serviceable shapes lacking decoration or embellishment. The commons surrounding the well was an unadorned, open area. The king would have expected children cavorting, buskers playing music, merchants hawking wares from booths under colorful canopies but the commons was deserted save for one woman in a plain dress. She drew water in a bucket and went on her way.

  Similarly, the people who milled about the hamlet wore neutral-colored tunics, leggings, and gowns. Neither men nor women wore jewelry. Robin guessed the villagers were poor and had not a penny to spare on frivolities.

  Robin led his troop ahead at a leisurely pace so as not to appear aggressive. While their approach was noticed by the dwellers, no one charged forward bearing arms or ran for cover or to get weapons. The citizens stood and watched, bland expressions on their faces. One man stepped forward and met the visitors halfway. Tall and of a mature age, he seemed to be in a leadership position not by dint of his clothing which differed in no way from anyone else's. His bearing, however, suggested confidence and authority. He extended his arm in greeting, not fully but adequate such that the king determined the man held no weapon.

  “Hello, strangers. Welcome.”

  “We neither intend harm nor do we mean to intrude.” Robin held his hands open and away from his body. “Frankly, we have been sailing and went off course. We hoped to learn about our location so that we can set ourselves right.”

  Sir Alan stepped forward. He extended a slight bow to the man. “We were headed for Hewnstone and then to Bell Castle. This is King Bewilliam of the Chalklands.”

  “And the Palisades,” added Sir Maxwell.

  “Your Majesty.” The man extended the courtesy of a bow. “I am Oneon, the sentinel. You are Here now. Why would you want to be anywhere else?”

  The king thought Oneon poorly suited for a watcher's position as his eyes were cloudy.

  The sentinel frowned. “I don't know how much help I can be to you. I have never heard of Hewnstone.”

  “Is this Perooc then?” Dame Deidre asked.

  Sentinel Oneon's face took on a look of patient endurance. “No, this is Here. Perooc I am aware of. I thought you said Hewnstone. Is it Perooc and its treasure you seek?

  “So there is such a place and such a prize,” Sir Maxwell said.

  The sentinel shrugged. “I have heard a tale. Not told by any that have been there. Many have arrived at our shore in search of it.”

  “What became of them?”

  “Some returned having abandoned the search and returned whence they came. Others we never encountered a second time thus we do not know what their fate was.”

  “But you yourself have not sought out this place.”

  “No, I have not. I have no interest in chasing what is a rumor, a legend. I have no need for such nonsense. I am in Here.”

  “But a huge trove of gems and gold ….” said Sir Maxwell.

  Oneon snorted. “Guarded by a dragon, so the story goes. Pure nonsense, the stuff of dreams. We have no use for dreams. The treasure of Perooc and its dragon is a tale to tell children, to entice them to behave or frighten them if they don't. Or to seduce and defraud the hopeful or lure them into servitude.” He lowered his voice. “Not to speak ill of our citizens but beware you aren't bilked.”

  “We understand. You aren't interested in treasure yet it would seem your lives are hard, you have nothing to spare,” Robin said.

  Again Oneon frowned. “Hard? Why would you say that? We lead a good life.”

  “We meant no offense. Simply, we note the absence of ornamentation, of decoration, and assumed your resources are strained.”

  “No offense taken. We are not poor. We are comfortable. We don't need any of that frippery. Everything in Here has a practical purpose. If it doesn't…” The sentinel shrugged. “May we offer you travelers some refreshment?”

  Something about the sentinel seemed familiar to Robin. Since they had never met before, Robin decided it was because the ailment plaguing the sentinel's eyes reminded him of subjects in the Chalklands who suffered from the same malady.

  Robin scanned the faces of his troop. Wide eyes and subtle nods persuaded him to reply, “That would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Come with me,” said the sentinel.

  While they followed, Robin noted their surroundings. Donkeys stood in corrals absent of any horses. A donkey could fill most transportation and labor requirements, even be a loyal ally as he had discovered. But he would miss the delight of an autumn trail ride on a quarter horse, or sitting tall astride a caparisoned mount in a parade. And nothing rivaled the contribution made by a well-trained stallion in a joust or a battle.

  The buildings, the peoples' garments were in good repair but lacked any color or adornment, not a bit of fringe or some embroidery. The settlement's customs were efficient, economical, but dispiriting and dreary in their starkness. The “frippery” festooning Bell Castle and adorning the quarters of the Chalklands’ poorest subjects had a purpose. It enlivened the spirit, nurtured pride, inspired and rewarded greater efforts. Days when everything seemed to go wrong could be redeemed by the sight of a blooming flower, the lilt of a stray piper's tune, the caress of soft fabric.

  Here's air was thin and odorless whereas everywhere else it was rich with the smells of animals, people, flowers and herbs, meats being roasted, and ales being brewed.

  The sentinel led them toward the center of the commons where wooden stools ringed three-legged tables. The furnishings lacked paint, varnish, carvings. Oneon bade them sit and excused himself to fetch provisions. He returned with a tray laden with wooden platters and cups as plain as the tables and chairs.

  Robin hoped for ale or wine but the beverage was water. Clean-tasting, it washed down the dust lining his throat but that was all. The solid food consisted of boiled eggs and raw vegetables cut into slices and sticks to be eaten out of hand. The bland fare cried out for salt or pepper, a sprig of parsley, but none were in evidence. Robin observed the garden plots were planted with vegetables but not berry bushes or fruit trees.

  Chickens pecked in the pens. Robin wondered why Oneon had served them eggs and not a roasted hen. Robin didn't spot a single pig or any cows, sheep, or goats. One could survive on eggs and vegetables; during one desperate time in his life, he subsisted on far less. So did his subjects since the famine. Nevertheless, what a dull diet these people in Here had. Robin resisted envisioning the roasts, cheeses, beverages, and sweets he enjoyed at Bell Castle which would only get his mouth watering.

  Where were the jesters, the musicians, the actors, the poets such as those who performed during meals at Bell Castle? Even shipboard meals were entertaining, with the telling of jokes, the swapping of stories, and the singing of chanties.

  “Your buildings are all the same design. They are unpainted, they are devoid of trim,” said Sir Alan.

  With a sweep of his arm, Sir Maxwell included the settlement's commons. “No fountain or statues. No decorative plantings. No flags.”

  Dame Deidre said, “It's so different from our homeland. Our citizens strive to make their surroundings, themselves, as beautiful as possible.” She frowned. “You have no flowers.”

  “All plants flower, of course,” replied the sentinel. “We cut off the buds as soon as they emerge. Once a plant flowers, it dies. We can't have that.”

  “Plants that don't flower don't make seeds. How do you obtain new plants?”

  “We don't need to. We keep the ones we have growing.”

 
Robin figured that explained the meal of eggs instead of a roasted chicken. Hens allowed to live could continue to lay eggs.

  “It is so quiet here,” Sir Alan said. He glanced to his left and right. “In our commons there is always someone playing an instrument, reciting some poetry, performing a play, putting on a puppet show for the children. People sing while they work, hum while walking the streets.”

  “Our Sir Alan is himself a musician,” said Sir Maxwell. “He's a drummer. His tunes are so rousing.”

  Sir Alan smiled, acknowledging the praise.

  Oneon shrugged. “None of that serves any practical purpose.”

  “Speaking of children, where are the children?” Dame Deidre asked. “You do have children?”

  The sentinel snorted. “Of course we have children. We form unions, we have offspring.”

  “I thought, maybe like the plants, you keep the people you have going for as long as possible.”

  The sentinel lifted his chin, a thoughtful expression on his face. After a moment he said, “What an intriguing notion. But no, we do have children. They are at work. We need everyone to contribute so as soon as the young ones can, they do.”

  Sir Maxwell nodded. “Of course children have their chores and responsibilities to help in the home or the field. I assist my father in the Bell Castle’s forge. Many hands make light work. Children’s enjoyment of their playtime is greater when they do get it.”

  “Playtime?” The sentinel seemed puzzled.

  “When they pretend to be something they're not. When they act out their dreams and their imagination.”

  The sentinel appeared to be puzzled.

  “Ah,” said Robin. “You did tell us you had no use for dreams.”

  “Exactly. Your Majesty understands. You are wise, Sire.”

  Robin heard a mewling sound behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to catch Meeyoo peeking from the rucksack. He guessed the food aromas aroused her appetite. He plucked a wedge of boiled egg from his plate and held it out to her.

  “Excuse me, King Bewilliam. What is that in Your Majesty's sack?”

  Meeyoo planted her front paws on Robin’s shoulder and nosed his cheek. “That's Meeyoo. Our pet cat,” Robin said.

  “Pet?” Oneon echoed.

  “Yes, pet. Perhaps in Here you have a different term for a domesticated animal kept for pleasure, for companionship.”

  Oneon scoffed. “Animals serve for work or for food. Why would anyone keep one … for companionship, you said?”

  Sir Maxwell said, “It is our holy charge. God gave us dominion of all the animals. We are to take care of them.” He nodded, “If we take care of them, they will take care of us.”

  That was true. The king recalled the times Meeyoo had come to his aid.

  “God?” Oneon asked.

  “Yes, God. The unseen Master, the Source, the Creator of All.”

  “We have no use for anything we can't see.”

  Neither did Robin. Fortunately, his son, Conrad, wasn't present to hear Oneon's apostasy. Prince Conrad so loved the Lord that he renounced his title and his legacy to become Father Thaddeus which Robin neither understood nor accepted.

  “You don't believe in God?” Sir Maxwell gasped and Sir Albert recoiled with a look of shock and dismay. Fists clenched, Sir Maxwell rose from his seat and leaned toward Oneon.

  Robin clapped the young knight's back. “Come, Sir Maxwell. We will be going.” Before a heated theological discussion got underway or worse, came to blows.

  There was no additional information to be gained. Robin drained his cup. “We thank you for your hospitality. We will impose on you no further.”

  “I am sorry I could not help you find your way to Hewnstone. But do not seek Perooc. That would be futile. Like God, it does not exist. Here is the be-all and end-all, the sum total of existence.”

  Robin and his troop left the commons.

  “I'm warning you,” Oneon called after them. “Don't waste your time. Don't be fools.”

  “No God?” Sir Maxwell sputtered. “Is the man mad? One needs only to look to appreciate His Works. Not everything has a practical purpose. Some are gifts from God for us to delight in Life. The scent of a rose—”

  “They had no roses,” Dame Deidre said.

  “—the way a song lifts the spirits—”

  “They had no singers.”

  “—the sweetness of candy—”

  “They didn't have that either.”

  A faint shadow appeared on the ground ahead of the king. He glanced up and glimpsed a shape soaring against a cloudless sky. The large bird that had roosted in the tree earlier, he decided. “Let's leave this matter for another time and focus on figuring out where we are and how we get to port. Perhaps James has gleaned clues from the flora and fauna.”

  “They didn't have much in the way of those,” griped Sir Maxwell.

  “The geography then,” Robin snapped. Reluctant to return to the ship with no better guidance to give the helmsman, he charged through the settlement at a pace that suggested he had a destination in mind.

  “Might I ask, Your Majesty, where we are going?” Sir Albert asked.

  “We're hoping to encounter other inhabitants, ones who might have a better idea of where they exist in the world,” Robin grunted.

  The number of edifices thinned. Fewer people milled about and he found himself blazing a new trail. He stopped so abruptly that the knights following him came close to colliding with his back.

  “Your Majesty?”

  “This wall, it's bowed. From where we stand it's convex, not concave.” Of the same color as the sand, the wall seemed to rise up from the earth. “Why would they build a wall that curved away from them instead of enveloping them? Perhaps there is something on the other side. The wall's architects. A different settlement perhaps and people who could help.” The wall had no windows, no parapet or other fortifications. It stretched to their left and right without a gate or a break of any kind in view. A tree would offer a vantage point but all that surrounded them was sand and the wall. “If there were a way through, or over ….”

  They moved closer to the wall. The only structure in view, the only way to uncover what lay on the other side was from its top.

  All eyes turned to Sir Maxwell.

  “What say you?” Robin asked. “Can you scale it?”

  The young knight scanned the wall and stroked its surface. “I see nothing to secure a rope to,” he muttered. “It's smooth. No chinks or anything to grip.” He turned to face Robin and the other knights, flexed his shoulders, and said. “Of course I can.”

  “Want a boost?” Sir Alan linked his hands together to form a cradle.

  “We could build a pyramid.” Sir Albert dropped to his hands and knees. He beckoned Sir Alan and Dame Deidre to join him.

  Sir Maxwell chewed his lower lip. After a few moments, he shrugged and said, “I think it best to make a run at it.” He took a rope from his pack and looped it around his waist. Handing off his pack to Dame Deidre, he jogged back several feet to give himself a running start. He tried and failed, falling flat on his rump. He tried and failed a second and third time.

  “Perhaps we should find another way,” Robin said.

  Sweating, the palms of his hands scraped and bloody, Sir Maxwell panted. “I can do this, Sire. Give me another chance. Ofan said only those with strong determination would acquire the treasure. I am determined.”

  “That's not what we meant. We brought shovels. Build a siege work such as we might use to scale a castle wall.”

  Sir Alan slapped his forehead and groaned, “Of course.” He and the other knights set to work mounding sand against the wall's base.

  Aided by the ramp, Sir Maxwell half-ran, half clawed up the wall. He neared the top edge and managed to get a grip and pull himself up to cheers from his cohorts below. Immediately he flattened himself on the rim. He peered over the side then turned and called down. “Your Majesty was right! There are people on this side.”
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  The potential of a new source of information raised Robin's spirits. Within a few hours they would be underway. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Do you see a gate in this wall anywhere?”

  “I do not, Sire. The wall stretches to the right and left and then curves out of view with no gate in sight.”

  “People had to be able to gain access somehow.”

  “Perhaps they built the wall encircling them. To keep out the people we just met.”

  “And never leave?”

  “Maybe there's no reason to leave. Or nothing to leave for. Should I drop over to the other side and investigate?”

  Sir Albert turned to the king. “Alone? We have no idea what he will encounter. Stranded here on this side, should something happen to him, how would we know? No, we should join him and lend our eyes and ears, our swords if needed. Sire?”

  Robin had sent many a scout to reconnoiter potentially hostile territory but usually under the cover of night and with additional armaments. A lone young knight could be easily overwhelmed. “We agree, Sir Albert. We should all go, and stay close.”

  “As you wish, Sire.” Sir Maxwell let the rope drape down the side of the wall. “Dame Deidre, you are the lightest. You climb up first. Then we two can hold the rope for the others.”

  Dame Deidre raced up the sandy slope, jumped, grabbed the rope, and hoisted herself to the wall's rim.

  Sir Albert next made quick work of climbing the rope.

  Sir Alan peered up then turned to the king. “Sire, I wish to return to Here.” The knight's face was pinched. “I can't imagine those people don't know something that can help us.” He spat out the word “people” like an epithet. “By the time you return, if you have learned nothing on the other side, I will have coaxed the truth out of them.”

  “A man alone, Sir Alan? Did we not decide that would present unnecessary risks?”