The Ryn (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  I paused to let the weight of my authority, as newly known as it was even to me, settle on the assembly. “This revered Council may discharge itself from the difficulty of making that decision. The traitorous acts of the Cobelds have put all citizens of E’veria at risk. This is not a decision to be made by scholars, though your insight is highly valued. This decision rests with the King and will be made by none other.”

  Confident that I had said all that needed to be said, I sat down. The heat of the stone on my forehead had increased gradually as I had spoken, though I had not made conscious note of it before taking my seat. As I moved my gaze around the table I realized that all eyes had moved from my face to a place above and behind me. Curiosity bid me to turn and see what had drawn their eyes, but I didn’t allow myself to give into it until the stranger sitting next to Ryjitha spoke into my thoughts.

  Look, Rynnaia, he said. Look.

  I turned. On the panel covering the wall behind me, the wood inlay of the Emblem of the First was . . . glowing.

  “Julien,” I whispered, “was that . . . ?”

  He leaned into my ear. “No, Princess, it was only wood before.”

  From the opposite end of the table, Ryjitha’s voice carried a note of resignation. “We cannot deny the truth of the princess’s words, for the light confirms it. The King must be contacted tonight.”

  She exhaled and peered at the parchment before her. “Our next item concerns the Academy at Salderyn,” she said dryly, turning to the man she so recently had wished to throttle. “What update have you for us, Lindsor?”

  Lindsor? My breath caught as the stranger who I now knew to be my great-grandfather rose.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  “I bring greetings from King Jarryn,” Lindsor’s tone was much more reserved now, but as he raised his eyes he gave me a sly wink. “The King thanks the Andoven for the tutelage of his daughter and for your continued care of the Queen.”

  At that his eyes grew a bit damp and he cleared his throat. “The hour grows late, so I will be brief. The unrest and violence in E’veria continue to increase and the people are hungry for hope. The Academy at Salderyn is nearing capacity as citizens from all regions and provinces flock to the safety of the fortified city and search for answers to what plagues their land.”

  Compassion for the plight of the people colored both his words and thoughts. If he hadn’t already won me by his passionate speech, I would have felt an immediate affection for him.

  “Construction of the Academy in Luce is finally nearing completion and it will soon need to be staffed. Furthermore, the King desires to build additional academies in each of the mainland provinces and asks for Andoven volunteers to serve as teachers in Luce and elsewhere as the need arises.”

  “Thank you, Lindsor,” Ryjitha nodded. “Council, alert our people to the King’s request.” She turned back to Lindsor. “Can we depend upon you to create a selection criteria for these new positions of . . . honor?”

  “Of course,” Lindsor nodded, and as he sat down, his gaze travelled the length of the table to where I sat. Greetings, at last, Great-granddaughter, he spoke to my thoughts. You may look like your beautiful mother, humor colored his words, but you are very much your father’s daughter. A true-born E’veri you are, child! I look forward to getting to know you.

  As I do you, sir.

  The meeting adjourned shortly thereafter. Many lingered to introduce themselves to me and it was a long time before I was face-to-face with the one who truly held my interest.

  “Rynnaia!” He stretched his arms and pulled me into them.

  “Great-grandfather.” I returned his embrace. “Two days ago I didn’t even know you existed, and now you’re here!”

  “And I have known of you only a short time longer.” Lindsor released me and looked past my shoulder. “Sir Julien!” He moved to clasp the knight’s hand. “The King sends his greetings to you and thanks you for the duty you so loyally give.”

  “It is my honor to serve the King and his daughter thus,” Julien replied.

  “It is good to see you, lad.” Lindsor turned his attention back to me. “Sir Julien was a pupil of mine when he was but a squire to your father. You will benefit much from his friendship in the dark days ahead of you.”

  His words sent a chill through my blood.

  “But even darkness has its benefits, does it not?” He smiled. “A torch in the brightness of Tirandov’s Great Hall would cast no shadow nor would it garner special attention. But the smallest ember uncovered in a cavern will shatter the darkness and dispel its threat. It is in darkness that light is most visible, Rynnaia. You need only open your eyes to see it.”

  “I confess I’m impatient to get on with it,” I said with a sigh. “But I’ve so much to learn and so little time in which to learn it.”

  “You are a passionate one!” He threw his head back and laughed. “Like your mother and her father before her. Though I am proud that your father’s lineage shines through to temper those tendencies.” He winked. “Unlike me, you give thought to your passion before it explodes into words.”

  I laughed, knowing he mocked himself. “You are passionate, my gifted Great-grandfather, but I do not believe your gifts extend to diplomacy.”

  “No, indeed!” We visited for a while before I noticed his weariness. When Lindsor admitted exhaustion from the journey, he promised we would talk more the following day.

  Just before leaving the Hall of Elders, he turned back. “Ah, the memory of this old man is not what it once was. I nearly forgot to pass on a request from the King.” He shook his head. “Rynnaia, your father wishes you to speak with him as soon as your lessons have progressed sufficiently to facilitate the communication.”

  The failure of my earlier attempt flushed through my mind.

  “Ahh . . .” He saw my thoughts. “I imagine that will be a difficult bridge to cross. Just speak from your heart, child. When the time is right, you will reach him.”

  With a gentle bow of his head, Lindsor exited, leaving me alone with Sir Julien.

  “After all that,” Julien said, “I imagine you’re exhausted.”

  “No, actually.” The admission surprised me. “I’m anything but. Are you?”

  “I’ve done little to tire myself.” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

  I returned his smile. “I do believe I would enjoy a stroll beyond these glowing walls.”

  He offered his arm.

  Outside the castle, the air smelled of spring, of all things green, and of the sea. We took a different path than we had the night before, one which wound around the opposite side of the castle.

  From this side of the narrow isle the sea looked and sounded as a normal tide, nothing like the silent current on which our boat had come in. A sliver of the moon’s reflection danced on the waves.

  The soothing sound of the surf cleared away the tension of the meeting. The bright fog that kept Tirandov Isle hidden from passing ships had cleared to allow us a view of the sea’s vast open waters.

  “Dyfnel tells me that the fog only arises when a ship draws near,” Julien said as he sat beside me on a stone bench. “This isle is full of wonders, is it not?”

  “Indeed.”

  We sat in companionable silence, appreciating the grandeur of sky and sea that made us feel so small, yet far from insignificant. A gull passed overhead and its call broke the calm, sending a shiver through me.

  Julien chuckled. “The sound was rather piercing, wasn’t it?” He leaned back against the bench and tilted his face toward the sky. “Shocking, almost. Like that ember in the darkness Lindsor spoke of.”

  I examined his profile as he gazed at the sea, loving how the breeze ruffled his hair.

  “Some things are only understood with time and gentle understanding,” he said. “But it’s the big moments . . . a shout that breaks the silence, an ember in the dark cavern, things like that, that capture our attention.”

  I had to look away, lest I add “
a handsome knight” to his list. I turned to watch the tide push and pull at the sand.

  “I took your advice on that chapter in The Story of The First today,” I said. “Do you think the source of that light, the light that changed the soldiers in the story into Cobelds, is the Remedy?”

  “I don’t believe the light is sourced from the mountain. I believe Loeftryn de Rynloeft himself was the source. The mountain was just doing his bidding.”

  I laughed. “A mountain is not a living thing with a will of its own. How could it do something for the pleasure of a man?”

  “Because he wasn’t a man as we understand the word. Think of his name: Loeftryn de Rynloeft. It means Highest Reigning descended from the Reign Most High. When you dissect the definitions of the words they can mean more than they first appear to.”

  “I understand that he was the First King, but de usually refers to a father’s name. Except that the name Rynloeft refers to a position or a place.” I wrinkled my nose. “It doesn’t make sense to me! How could he be the descendant of a place?”

  “It is a little tricky,” Julien paused. “Princess, you must think about the word descend in its other literal meaning. To come down from.”

  “But that makes him seem to have no beginning. No parents, no ancestry. How can that be? Everyone has descended from someone!”

  “He is The First.”

  I stood up and began to pace in front of the bench.

  “Princess,” Julien spoke after a few minutes, “look at the moon and the light it gives. Do you not wonder who hung it in the sky?”

  I stopped pacing and gazed at the glowing orb. “Yes, of course I know there is a Creator.” I paused, thinking back to the book. “That was one of his names, too, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. And that name remains true, as does he.”

  “The First.” I resumed my pacing. “So what you’re telling me is that the one responsible for the sunrise in the morning, the blooming of flowers, the pull of the tides, even our very breath, this Creator is the same being as the First King?”

  “He is the same.”

  “But he died. And then when they realized he wasn’t dead,”—my words confused even my own ears—“he disappeared into the sky. That should have been the end, right?”

  “Yes. But it wasn’t. Truth is not so easily done away with. His love for us is unfathomable. Unquenchable.”

  “Indeed?” I turned back to face him, my hands on my hips. “Then why, if the First King cares so much about E’veria, does he keep the Remedy hidden? Why did he give the Cobelds the ability to impart death through the hairs of their beards? Why has he let my mother suffer for nineteen years? If he is such a powerful being, so powerful that he can circumvent death, why didn’t he destroy Cobeld and his followers so we could live in peace?”

  “I don’t believe he gave the Cobelds their power. I think it comes from a darker source.”

  The shiver his words sent through me made the burns on my fingers throb. “What source would that be?”

  “I don’t know.” Julien was quiet for a while. When he finally spoke, the change in subject surprised me. “Do you know the legend of the night sky?”

  “Of course.” No one could live in Veetri for as long as I had without hearing such a popular tale. Having grown up in a house with two Storytellers, I knew it by heart. “It is said that the Creator, whose garments were made of light itself, gave each day a period of darkness that his creation could have a few hours of rest and peace from the heat of the sun,” I said. “But from the first night, the darkness caused so much sadness that he had pity upon his creation, tearing pieces of his cloak and throwing them into the sky.”

  Julien chuckled. “Were it not for the lack of Story People, I would think you one of the gifted Veetrish.”

  My Veetrish accent had again come to the fore while relating my abbreviated version of the famed tale.

  He smiled. “Go on.”

  “No teasing?”

  He crossed his arms. “Very well,” he said with a sigh. “No teasing.”

  I tilted my face toward the sky and gazed at the expanse above. Just then, a shooting star passed overhead. “Did you see that?” I asked.

  Julien nodded. “Beautiful.”

  “A glimmer’s trace for just a breath, thus ends its path of light.” I quoted the poem from which I had, in a roundabout way, arrived at my horse’s name and stopped worrying about how Veetrish I sounded. “Would you like me to finish the tale?”

  “Please.”

  I took a breath, but kept my eyes trained celestially. “To ease the burden of darkness on his beloved people, the Creator tore his very cloak, which itself was made of light, and threw the scraps skyward. When the pieces of his cloak touched the sky,” I lowered my voice to a hush, “the stars were born.” I paused and spoke again in a normal volume, “From that night forth there remained within the darkness of the night sky an innumerable collection of celestial bodies giving the people hope even through their darkest times.”

  I stood, stepped a few paces away, and gave Julien my best attempt at a Veetrish Storyteller’s showy bow.

  He laughed and applauded. “A well-told tale! Do you recognize any of the First King’s names in that story?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “Creator, of course. That is the name with which I’m most familiar, having heard it most of my life. I’ve always thought of light and hope as words of description before, but I guess they’re listed among his names, as well.”

  “Indeed.” Julien’s smile widened. “Even a folktale born of Veetrish imagination can contain truth at its core.” He gestured to the celestial canopy above us, dotted with millions of stars. “Each star varies in size and intensity, but even the brightest are invisible in the bright light of day.” He lowered his gaze to me. “It is the same for us. If we never experienced the darkness of suffering and pain, we could never grasp the depth of comfort found in the light of love.”

  He paused and gazed out at the sea. “We are allowed to suffer and allowed to observe the sufferings of others, which is sometimes even more difficult, so that we might better experience the meanings of our Creator’s many names and discover a clearer picture of the nature of his character. And as we do, we learn to know him better.”

  “He asked if I was ready to know him.” I sighed. “But I am not.”

  “He . . . asked?”

  “Yes. After he burned my fingers, of course.”

  I showed Julien my blisters and explained my experience with the book. My next words carried a sharpened edge that was almost painful to pronounce.

  “I am both ignorant and stubborn. I am Andoven, but I am unschooled in my gifts. I am the Ryn, but I have no idea how a princess is supposed to behave. And I can’t even wield a sword, Julien! Yet I’m supposed to defeat the Cobelds?” I shook my head and trained my gaze on the sand. “What qualifies me to be the one entrusted with the Kingdom’s hope? Surely there are many others who would be better suited to this position.”

  “Nay, Princess, there is only one. He chose you to be the Ryn and to take on this quest in the same manner he chose me to be born a knight of Fyrlean Manor. Because he is The First. He sees the whole and knows the parts we are each to play.”

  “I envy your confidence, Julien.” I stared at my hands, folded in my lap. “But I cannot embrace this, or him, as you wish me to.” I sighed. “I hope you’re not too disappointed in me.”

  Julien reached for my hand. “This decision to accept or reject The Story of The First is not one to be made lightly, Rynnaia. You must give it the fullness of your consideration and not try to rush yourself.”

  “Yes. Don’t rush. Good advice.” I laughed, but the sound held less amusement than irony. “I shouldn’t rush, but I must read until my eyes ache, learn to harness my Andoven gifts, and have a conversation with a stranger who happens to be my father!” The sarcasm coating my tongue increased as the list of all the things I had yet to do became more and more daunting. “
Then I must figure out how to exile the Cobeld curse, and, by the way, pick up the Remedy on my way through so I can save my mother’s life. No, Julien, there’s no rush.”

  “Your burden is grave.” He ran his thumb along the skin joining my index finger and thumb. “I would take it from you if I could.”

  “I know you would.” I squeezed Julien’s hand to try to take some of the sting from my words, but was forced to lift my hand to cover a yawn.

  “We should go back to the castle and find our rest.” He let go of my hand, stood, and offered me his arm. We retraced our steps in silence.

  “You are a patient man, Julien de Gladiel,” I said as we neared the glowing castle. “I doubt many other knights would serve their King as teacher to an obstinate princess.”

  “I’m honored you trust me with your questions,” he said. “It is no burden to share my heart with you.”

  It is no burden to share my heart with you.

  I mulled over his words as we walked. We were nearly to the castle doors when my sharp intake of breath caused him to pause mid-step and turn to face me.

  “Is something amiss?”

  Heat fizzled up from the core of my body and into my face. Sudden clarity dawned.

  My feelings for Julien had deepened far beyond friendship to something with much more depth and tenderness.

  My eyes sought the ground. Blocking my thoughts was of no use to me against this man. If he looked in my eyes I would be incapable of hiding my heart from him.

  Julien’s gentle hand touched my burning cheek and turned my face toward him. I kept my eyes closed, fearing what he would see in them.

  “Are you in pain? Did you turn your ankle, or step on a stone?” The concern in his voice was my undoing. I saw him clearly before I even opened my eyes.

  “Princess . . .”

  Drenched in streams of green and gold, I was dizzied by the power his colors contained. I lost all ability to control my thoughts.