Complete Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches

by William Robert Stanek

  Confused emotions swept over Seth. Even now he felt the urge to hold Galan as he’d done when he pulled her from the sea.

  You may hold me, said Galan, I feel suddenly cold and empty.

  Waves that had been rolling moderately grew gradually choppier and the open sea became a disquieting place to be. Wind whistled in Seth’s ears and the tiny raft began to creak and moan. In the shallow of a trough, where the water on all sides of him filled his field of vision, it seemed as if the sea was opening up to swallow him.

  Galan, said Seth. We must lash ourselves to the raft.

  High seas washed over the raft. Seth strained his mind, and tried to discern a response amongst the tumult. He probed Galan’s mind. Galan? Galan?

  He found only emptiness. Galan was dying.

  Their raft was chasing the edge of black clouds now. The scent of rain permeated the air. Soon they would be within the folds of a raging downpour and violent seas. On his hands and knees Seth scrambled toward Galan. He slipped and fell with each movement, and though it was only a short distance, his weakened and weary body was put to the test. Only his near-broken will kept him when endurance and stamina had failed.

  Finally at Galan’s side, Seth cradled her in his arms. He held her tenderly and firmly, as one might hold a newborn babe if they were afraid it would slip between their fingers. Tears came to his eyes. The moisture burned like fire across his dry eyes. And then, as if in response, bitterly cold rains hit him. Rain, the essence of life—life that abounded with irony while Galan lay dying in his arms.

  No my Galan… Do not leave me. I need you— Seth could not finish the sentence. He could not accept the thought of more loss.

  No more loss, he promised himself, no more loss.

  Seth worked to secure Galan to the raft while the storm bludgeoned him with wave after wave that washed the raft’s face. Seth vowed that if he and the raft survived the storm so would Galan and only through the sheer force of his will did he maintain his grip.

  When he finally got a knot in place, he gasped, and collapsed onto his back. Hungrily, he drank the rain that splashed his face. It seemed a lifetime since he had tasted anything so sweet. Afterward, he worked to lash himself to the raft. This was much easier, though still the work was strenuous. He had to fight the storm and guard against waves that sought to pull him into the sea.

  Again, he was left panting. Again he drank as much of the rain as he could force down his burning and swollen throat.

  It was then he felt Galan’s spirit yearning to be gathered by Great-Father, to be taken home, but he would not let it go, could not let it go. He projected his will into the place her spirit sought to flee, and barred her passage from life. The place between life and death was a cold and empty place just as Galan had warned him it would be.

  Right then he vowed he would give his own life before he would allow the last unraveling thread of her life to slip away. In the chaos of his mind, Seth truly believed he could deny death. Any other would not have been able to do what Seth was doing now. Such was the strength of his will and his conviction in his desperation.

  He became oblivious to the bludgeoning of the storm. He knew only that he had to hold onto the raft, his precious cargo, and maintain the projection of his will. His thoughts became lost to the internal struggle of his consciousness, his sense of justice over his sense of better judgment. He would not lose the focusing of his will. Barring all else, blocking out sound and sight, Seth escaped reality and slipped further and further into his thoughts, further from what was real and just, while voices filled his mind and his dreams, taking on the role of the just and the unjust.

  What is the first law of life, Brother Seth?

  Of course the answer is to preserve what Mother-Earth has created so all may enjoy it.

  Ahh, yes, but what is the second law of life?

  Not to interfere with the natural order of nature and most of all to heed the will of the Father.

  Great-Father’s word in such matters is final, is it not?

  Yes Brother Samyuehl, it is, but the law also says that one is permitted to guide that order or to correct injustices.

  To guide or correct yes, but not to interfere with the natural order and that means not to hinder the will of the Father.

  When Seth opened his eyes, the world he found was surprisingly different from the one he had left. The sea was miraculously calm. Night had miraculously arrived and a soft soothing breeze blew upon his skin.

  There was picturesque beauty in the face that he looked down upon, even though the eyes were closed and it was gathered in a deathly pale. Vast sadness grew within him, encircling him, and Seth averted his eyes. He peered out into the night sky and time became nonexistent. His only thought amidst mounds of confusion was to maintain his will and keep his vigil. He would not let lose the thread, that last simple thread of life and will.

  In and out of consciousness his mind moved, always reaching, always searching, searching for a way to cheat the inevitable, to cheat life and death itself.

  Remember, when all seems lost and you cannot find the center of your being, return to that which separates you, distinguishes you, from all else. Return to your thoughts, for they are truly your own. They are you…

  Chapter Six:

  Crossing

  “A curse upon them, Father,” Jacob said. He began the long march back to the broken wagon, mud and rain only increased his disillusion, disgust and utter disappointment. His arms and legs were on fire with fatigue, Adrina was a lead weight in his arms that he would not drop.

  Jacob staggered and stumbled. He sank to his knees several times, only to return to an uneasy stagger moments afterward. Mud covered his cloak, his arms and even his face.

  He began to chuckle to himself as an increased downpour ironically washed the muck away. A few more steps, he promised himself, not realizing he didn’t know what he would do when he did reach the wagon. Faith, whispered a tiny voice in his mind, faith everlasting…

  “F-a-ther!” crackled a distant voice, softly intermixed with the sound of the storm.

  At first Jacob thought it was the voice of his conscience speaking to him again, but then the call repeated. He stumbled and turned back toward the huts. As he did this he fell to his knees and, still clutching the princess tightly, he looked up to see an ancient man with a long, white beard standing in an open doorway.

  “Quickly, now!” the man hissed.

  Finding renewed vigor, Jacob did as the old man bade. Rain beating down upon him washed away the mud from his most recent fall by the time he reached the doorway.

  “I won’t forget this, Father! I will never forget this,” Jacob called out to the sullen sky. He revoked his ill-spoken curse.

  Quickly, Father Jacob slipped off the princess’ soaked jacket and the wet clothes beneath which were drenched both from rain and perspiration from a renewed fever. After throwing the wet things unceremoniously into a pile on the floor, he laid Adrina onto the bed that the kindly man indicated. Immediately, he pulled its thick blankets tightly around her pale, limp body.

  “Get me some moist towels,” Jacob demanded of the old man.

  Directly the man returned with clean cloths and a bowl of cool water. He joined Father Jacob at the bedside. “Here, let me do that for you. You are tired, you must rest. I am Master T’aver and I gather that you are Father Jacob. I am sorry about before, but you must know of the superstitions of my people. I take great risk allowing you into my home on a night such as this. Can you not feel the malice of the storm?”

  Jacob heard little of what the other told him. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful, but his attentions were on Adrina and he cared for nothing else. He wet a cloth in the bowl, rung it out and placed it on Adrina’s forehead. The increasing fever magnified his worries and he bent his head in solemn prayer. He needed guidance. He prayed for strength and continued faith.

  To Jacob it seemed hours later that he raised his head and whispered, “I am ready,” to the f
ading echoes of voices in his mind.

  He cleared his mind and set to the task ahead. Somehow, wisdom came easily to his thoughts. Power flowed through his mind and center. His will became centralized, focused, and this time there was no block between the power of his mind and his heart. He began the litany of healing and life, yet this time the song-prayer was different from the one that he had tapped into before. It was animate and latent with power.

  His words departed from those of the Kingdom spilling slowly over into those of another time, becoming for a time a blend of present and past, and then finally focusing on the old tongue.

  It was an odd sensation to feel within himself the will of Mother-Earth so potent—few males had ever been granted such a gift from the Mother. Perspiration flowed down his brow and dripped from the tip of his nose to touch the floor below with a splash in the small pool forming beneath the spot where he stood, engrossed in a litany of words so ancient they glistened with subtle hints of power. But it was not so much the words Jacob spoke that created the power, rather the delicate focusing they created in his mind to gather his will and direct it precisely.

  Over the course of the hours that ensued, Father Jacob maintained the chanting rhythm and the healing began. Minutes became hours and hours unfolded one by one. The power of life flowed from Jacob’s words and took new form inside the young princess, whose face was still wrapped in a pale, deathlike mask, and as that strength flowed between them, Jacob could feel hours of his life slip accordingly away.

  Utter exhaustion played out on his features and when he was finally forced to quit due to his fatigue, Jacob slumped over at the side of the bed. He rested his head on soft covers, arms raised and crossed over his knees. He was trembling and there were tears in his eyes. He knew he had succeeded. Already he could sense the fever lifting from Adrina.

  But what had it cost him, he asked himself. They were miles away from Castle Fraddylwicke, miles away from the sea, and so very far away from Alderan. Soon exhaustion forced sleep upon him and Jacob fell fast asleep.

  The hours passed swiftly. “Good Father Jacob, can you hear me?” a soft voice called out. “The dawn has come and gone, and still you sleep…”

  Jacob stirred. He heard the unpleasant sounds of hammering now, which suddenly sounded to him as if someone was driving a spike into his head. Still half in a daze, he opened his eyes. He looked about the room. He was lying supine on a cot opposite the hut’s only bed. His eyes flashed with surprise as he realized the bed was empty. “Where is Princess Adrina? Have you done something to her?”

  The old man batted his eyes at Father Jacob as if the priest had just stung him. “That one is full of wind and fire. She’s been directing my sons’ efforts all this morning, fixing the wheel on that wagon of yours.”

  Jacob moved sluggishly to a sitting position. “And you are?”

  “I am Master T’aver,” said the old man. He scratched his long white beard. “You came upon my home during the devil’s own squall yester eve. You truly are First Minister to the King. You performed a miracle last night that never in all my years have I seen.”

  Jacob cocked his head and looked out the window. “The banging has stopped.”

  “Yes, it is near midmorning. Some hours now my sons have labored at that wheel. It must be fixed. You should eat now and with godspeed you’ll be on your way.”

  Jacob started to stand, T’aver put a halting hand to his shoulder. “Wait. The food will come. We should first talk. There are things you must know if you are to continue your journey.”

  “What can you possible know of my journey?” Jacob asked. Again he moved to stand. The fog in his mind was clearing now. He was worried about the young princess. He hadn’t expected a full recovery and Adrina was just strong-minded enough to be out and about while still very ill.

  T’aver moved a chair to Jacob’s cot. “Five days after the last full moon, I received a portentous message from an old friend. The message was in the form of a scroll, sealed magically—”

  Jacob’s eyes went wide at the mention of the forbidden craft—it was one thing to use prayers and gifts from Father and Mother, quite another to tap into the fabric of the world.

  Master T’aver continued, “And meant only for my eyes. It told me things I didn’t want to believe—not that I doubted the word of the Watcher.”

  Again Jacob’s eyes grew wide with astonishment.

  “But I truly did not believe until your arrival yester eve… Trust the girl’s instincts, Father Jacob. She walks under a charm…” T’aver seemed about to say something more, but just then the door opened and an old woman carrying a tray of food entered the hut. Master T’aver bade Jacob eat and said no more.

  The wagon and the horses were readied while they ate. Afterward, they said their goodbye’s and thank you’s quickly. As Father Jacob directed the wagon back to the main thruway, the four-horse team seemed strangely unresponsive. Above, the sky was clear and deep blue. While Adrina was hopeful it would remain that way, she couldn’t deny the ill feeling building up from within. She cast Father Jacob a concerned glance and wondered at his silence. He had said little to her since awaking and nothing of his conversation with T’aver.

  At a quiet, unbroken pace the journey continued, with the musty and pungent odor of the swamp eventually replaced by a fresh, cool breeze that promised of the coast and the sea ahead. Adrina watched Jacob guide the wagon repeatedly, chiding the horses to swifter and swifter speeds. She was sure they would arrive in Alderan too late to stop whatever was taking place. She was also sure Father Jacob felt the same thing.

  That night they camped only when it became too hazardous to continue along the shrouded road. Adrina slept bundled in many blankets in the back of the wagon. Jacob slept on the ground beside a meager fire.

  Adrina came awake before dawn and, as the false dawn gathered, Father Jacob and Adrina began their race again. Soon the sea came into view and a wonderful sensory explosion of salt air and sea life followed. In the distance, seagulls speckled the air and dotted the landscape of a rocky coastline, their calls reaching the approaching two on gentle breezes.

  Adrina’s face flushed with sudden color, turning from the ashen pale it had held to a rosy alabaster as sea breezes blew against her cheeks. A smile touched her lips and she touched her hand to Jacob’s and momentarily held it tight. The sun and the breeze felt good. For a brief moment, she thought of Lady Isador. Lady Isador who longed for southern breezes and tall grasses.

  “I made it to the sea,” said Adrina glumly, her voice so soft and shallow that it blended into and was lost in the sounds of wind rushing past her ears and birds in the sky overhead. Her eyes fixed on a point out along the horizon and out across the waters of the sea ahead. Somewhere out there was Prince William. Adrina was sure of that now. She saw his blue, blue eyes staring up at her again.

  Adrina prepared herself to ask Father Jacob a question that had been in the back of her mind for some time. She was already sure what Jacob’s answer would be, but felt she had to ask anyway. Either Jacob would confirm her fears or—and this is the reason Adrina felt compelled to speak—he would tell her that things were not as bad as they seemed. She took in a deep breath, laced her fingers together and then spoke. “Father Jacob…”

  Jacob cast her a sidelong glance.

  “Do you believe King Jarom would try to kill my brother?” There, she said it, but she didn’t feel any better for the saying. She took another deep breath and braced herself for Jacob’s response.

  Jacob seemed to sense her anguish. He put the reins for the team in one hand and with his free hand touched hers. “That is a question I have asked myself again and again, but I told myself I did not want to answer. The fact is that King Jarom murdered King Charles and that obviously he wants to stop Prince William from reaching the north to bring word of this terrible deed to King Andrew.”

  “What could King Jarom possibly have gained from killing Charles?”

  “It could be that
he wishes to restore Vostok to its former glory.”

  Adrina’s eyes widened. She recalled something Keeper Martin had told her before they had entered the swamps. “If King Jarom took Sever, what would be next? Would he go beyond the disputed lands?”

  Jacob’s mouth dropped open. Adrina had never seen him at a loss. It was clear he hadn’t considered this.

  “King Jarom may lust for power,” Jacob said, “but invasion is another thing altogether. It would mean plunging the kingdoms into an all-out war. As it is now, what he has done may already mean war, but that would depend on the evidence Prince William brings to King Andrew and the decision of the Alliance.”

  “The lady in the forest told me that King Jarom sees himself seated on Imtal’s throne. Was Vostok once that vast?”