The Histories of Earth, Books 1-4: In the Window Room, A Prince of Earth, All the Worlds of Men, and Worlds Unending

Home > Other > The Histories of Earth, Books 1-4: In the Window Room, A Prince of Earth, All the Worlds of Men, and Worlds Unending > Page 15
The Histories of Earth, Books 1-4: In the Window Room, A Prince of Earth, All the Worlds of Men, and Worlds Unending Page 15

by Steven J. Carroll


  Chapter Sixteen

  Important Things

  After Mrs. Wolcott left the following morning, the next few days were rather uneventful, but only by comparison. For as you might imagine, after living in and truly breathing in the experience of another world, to be resigned to mere correspondence will likely be considered a step backward. And still, perhaps surprisingly, given Timothy’s first aversion to his job as an interplanetary postman, the two did their duties with honor, and were very much appreciated for it.

  And here was the process as it happened:

  Every day, twice a day, for about the space of an hour each time, Barbara would come to visit Wolcott Manor, to help Timothy send and receive their letters; Either from his grandmother and the regiment, who were all steadily riding north, back to the King’s palace at Ismere, or vice versa.

  The whole matter of interstellar mail carrying was considerably involved. And both messengers agreed, what they thought to be the hardest part of their job was trying to decipher which lake, or hill, or other such landmark they were intended to send the next message to. (Only once, near the beginning, did they guess wrongly, and the bottle came back with an empty letter, and so it had to be resent to the correct coordinates. But that was only once, and after that they both seemed to do much better at finding the appropriate bend in the river, or edge of the forest, and so there was no lasting harm.)

  And since nearly all the interest of those days came in form of handwritten letters, if you will allow me, I will recopy those letters here for you, so that you are able to get the full sense of Matilde’s journey, from her own words.

  Each of her messages came spaced apart, roughly once per day. And in the intermediary time, you should know that Timothy tried very hard to make the most of his days, alone in the house, searching through old chests and hidden rooms, dusting off the pages of age worn books, and finding all sorts of intriguing artifacts. Some of which he’d meant to ask his grandmother if he could keep, including one curious palm-sized dialed instrument that he took for a compass.

  And in whatever time remained, he could be seen training, or as Barbara called it ���play fighting,��� with his new sword, on the back hill behind the manor, underneath the shade of an old beech tree.

  9th of Kislev, in the 51st year of King Corwan

  Pleasant greetings, Delany. We are all safe and in good spirits.

  Today we rode through to the edge of the low plains, to the village of Loc, where we were welcomed in kindly and a great bonfire was kindled to celebrate our arrival. Which I should expect was at great expense to our hosts, since trees in these plains, we’ve seen, are not so easy to come by.

  At the moment, we are reveling in the late autumn air and are in good company, and these kindnesses have been made all the more sweet, knowing that once we’ve gone through the pass, past the low Geat Mountains and on toward the rocky barren plains above, it will be pressing travels, and fewer warm greetings till we come to the fort city of Hrim, on the edge of our borders.

  Nevertheless, here by the bonfire, at the center of the village, there is dancing, and Corwan is relaying our adventures to date, and mulling over safest routes and passages with the village chief. Now they appear to be speculating, and hearing rumors from the northern county. Just like him, not to rest even when he has a chance for it.

  Wishing you could join us, and I know you would be here alongside the bonfire if you were able.

  All my affections,

  Mattie

  10h of Kislev, in the 51st year of King Corwan

  Our good spirits diminished today.

  This morning Corwan made the announcement, while the chilled winds blew through the pass, that there have been rumors of activity on the northern front, and that a few days prior, hunters and pelt traders from the border mountains had come to the village of Loc with stories of possible troop movements within the realm of Ent. None of their claims however could be confirmed by any firsthand knowledge, but the unanticipated displacement of herds has made these rumors more plausible.

  Corwan recommended that, considering the necessary dangers of our mission have now changed, and since we have all come as volunteers, that any man who now finds himself fearful should take this opportunity to return back to Ismere, and he’s assured them that there will be no disgrace or shame for this action, stating that such men will be counted as messengers, sending back word to the council and generals, and more so, that he would welcome their valor, if war should fall to Ismere.

  Dear friend, it pains me to write that you should prepare to welcome so many. Nine men have taken this chance to turn back and to return to the capital, leaving only thirty-one, plus myself, to continue on across the high plains.

  Tonight, the crisp air bites against our cheeks as we huddle here in the shelter of a large crag. We are all cloaked and ready for the winter ahead of us, but say prayers for our bravery as we press on toward Hrim.

  Upon reading this letter, Timothy said that he would never have abandoned his grandmother like that, and that those who’d left should be ashamed of themselves. However Barbara, in her way, not wanting to sound at all frightened by their circumstances, said that, ���We oughtn’t be so quick to judge them.��� And then added what would turn out to be very fitting, saying that neither of them knew at all what sorts of armies one might face, out there in that other world.

  11th of Kislev, in the 51st year of King Corwan

  Another day in this barren waste. Vivid green heath and the sun obscured by fogs and clouds that rain down upon us, and these giant boulders spread throughout the expanding landscape.

  And the sun, when it is bright, comes in a way that you might imagine this laboring fog might end, but it never does. And it brings back, when it comes again, a more biting dampness, and the winter’s frost in the wind.

  The sun looks to be fully setting soon. We’ve made a camp at the basin of a low point between two hills, to escape the wind.

  12th of Kislev, in the 51st year of King Corwan

  I can only imagine these plains to be a beautiful place during the summers, though it looks like we have come upon them in their foul season.

  Today we found a small clean pool, to fill our containers with and to water the horses.

  13th of Kislev, in the 51st year of King Corwan

  This morning we awoke with a thin line of frost over our blankets, and in the strands of our hair. My fingers are beginning to stiffen, making it difficult to write a proper letter.

  [After this point Matilde’s hand appeared to have been shivering, and so the last few lines were hardly discernible at all, except for the word ���ICE���, which was written in very bold script.]

  14th of Kislev, in the 51st year of King Corwan

  I’d almost thought this desolate expanse would have gone on forever, but tonight we’ve finally come to Hrim. We’d arrived a full hour after sunset, and rode along, our path obscured in the darkened plains. Yet, no one would bear speak of setting camp, for on ahead we saw the faint glow of distant lights, of the outpost city and its watchtower, like a beacon of promise in this frigid hardened land.

  In the instant we arrived, we were all of us settled around the warm hearth, in a tall and long stretched wooden lodge. And as the fire lapped at our icy hands and faces, our spirits returned to us, and a deeper laughter, of the sort that hides dormant inside battered and wearied bodies, that joyfulness began to melt and flow from our souls and limbs. It is good to be warmed again.

  As you might like to know, during these few days when Barbara and Timothy had been engaged in their duties as postmen, Timothy had kept very well fed. So much, that he would sometimes only eat because it was time for it, and not for any real need, or lack: Taking his opportunity to devour each of his grandmother’s left over tart pastries, and whole custards, washing them down with glasses of milk left to him every morning by the milkman who’d still kept a regular route in Mayfield.

  But as for Barbara, she ha
d not been so fortunate, and was on to her third day of clumpy porridge fed to her in the school’s dining commons. Everyone, left abandoned on the grounds that summer, agreed that it was some sort of hardly edible torture, made from lentils, or green soup peas, or some pureed mix of the other horrid awful food left to the ���orphans��� at Mayfield. And truly, Barbara had fully begun to pity herself, until she read the last and final message sent back to them from the fort city of Hrim.

  It was scorched, as if by fire, and not even rolled into its customary greenish bottle, but came floating down through the air and landed on the window room floor. This letter bore only one word, though that in itself was enough, and even more than Barbara thought she might be able to bear reading without sudden tears.

  ATTACK……

  The word was scrawled largely across the page, and as Timothy was certainly convinced, was not even in his grandmother���s own handwriting.

  ���We have to do something,��� Timothy said, raising his voice. However, Barbara was not so hot headed as her friend, and thought within herself that both she and Timothy were, neither of them, strong enough to do any real good.

  ���And what could we do?��� she retorted.

  ���Oh, I don’t know,��� he said, motioning his open hand toward the glowing painting, and the images of that distant, unfamiliar, and now obviously dangerous new world.

  ���…But something.���

  Chapter Seventeen

  A Decision

  A mighty uproar ran through the council, calling for greater military intervention, anything at all that could be done to save the King, the royal princes, and those valiant men who’d offered themselves for this horrific mission.

  There was chaotic yelling and loud voices. Barbara and Timothy stood in the center of it all, after retelling to the council the story of how this final letter had come to them, and after reading aloud its single worded message.

  One man stood up to remark that their kingdom’s friendship with Earth had cost them more than it was worth. Though, thankfully no one gave his accusation much credence, and afterward another of the noblemen declared that now the time had finally come to use the light for its intended purpose, to transport reinforcements.

  Howbeit, Queen Delany, who was sovereign in her husband’s absence, declared that she would by no means disobey the King’s edict, even now. (Which states that every native born citizen of their world shall be forbidden from light travel, including the King himself.) And furthermore, in this specific instance the Queen also refused to use the light for herself, to leave her kingdom uncared for during such a time of crisis.

  And so, it would seem there was nothing else to be done, but to deploy a band of soldiers as a search party, and to send messengers to the outlying northern settlements, and to wait and hope for the King’s good return, or for word of his safety, or otherwise.

  Their soup of chilled strawberries and currants, in the emptied banquet hall, would have delighted even the most soured expression, but that evening it did little to comfort their sadness, or to lift their sense of hopelessness.

  Timothy and Barbara sat side-by-side, enjoying plush velvety chairs, and all the courtly delicacies that the palace could afford them: But this did little, very little, to enliven their spirits. After all, what good is a king’s banquet when there is no king? When the ones you care for are put so dearly into harm’s way? In moments like those, a bowl of strawberry and currant soup does little good. In fact, it will most often ferment with sadness, and taste bitter in your mouth. (And if I might place a guess at the reason for this, I would say it is because heavy feelings: such as sadness, bitterness, or guilt, leave no room for the other senses, and will weigh down into the dust even the best of niceties.)

  After a long passing silence, Timothy finally spoke up, setting his silver engraved spoon on the table.

  ���You can stay if you’d like, but I’m going to find her.���

  Barbara nearly spit out her soup. ���The King and thirty men couldn’t even stand up to them, and survive. What good are you going to do?���

  ���Maybe I’ll catch them by surprise,��� he said, turning in his chair to face hers, and leaning his elbow atop the table.

  ���Maybe you’ll get yourself killed,��� she responded, looking rather cross.

  ���Hey now, just because you’re too frightened to go, doesn’t mean that I have to be. I can defend myself,��� he said, placing a hand on the emerald green and golden hilt of his new sword.

  But Barbara just rolled her eyes and scoffed, ���And just because you’ve got a sword,��� she said, folding her arms, ���…that doesn’t make you knight.���

  Timothy pushed away from the banquet table, and stood up. ���No… but neither does staying here.���

  And he stormed out of the room, his footsteps echoing in her ears as he left.

  And she continued to hear those last words and footsteps, mingled with her own, as she made her way to Timothy’s quarters that evening. Though her steps, at the present, had made a much more firm and resounding tone than they’d usually had, for she had just swapped her old laced boots for a newer fur lined pair that she’d found tucked away in her ample palace closet. Imagining that no one would ever mind her enjoying such a stylish and cozy pair, considering the fact that she, of course, was counted as an honored guest there at palace, and that those sorts of boots would be the exact type she might have been given anyhow, that is if anyone there had known the manner of dangerous, and somewhat foolishly heroic plans that they had decided upon that evening, but thankfully no one had.

  She arrived at his door, bit down her top lip, and knocked forcefully.

  ���Who’s there?���

  ���It’s me, Barbara.���

  ���What do you want, Cholley? Come to try to talk me out of it, are you?��� he said rudely through the door, so that she nearly changed her mind.

  But from that she stopped herself, for she knew that what she had wanted most of all at the moment was to help rescue Mrs. Wolcott, and if she would have to put up with her rude grandson’s behavior in the process, then, as much as necessary, she would endure, if that meant saving that dear old woman’s life.

  ���Noo…��� she answered back, slightly mocking him. ���I want to help.���

  And before she knew quite what was happening, the door swung open and Timothy’s hand was stuck out to her, offering her some mess of wadded puffy fabric mixed with animal skins.

  ���What’s this?��� she asked, rightfully.

  ���Silly, it’s your coat,��� Timothy replied.

  And then added, slightly enjoying himself, for the adventure of it all, and dramatically overemphasizing every word, ���It’s sure to be very… very cold.���

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Journey Begins

  Their boots crunched on the cold frozen grassy tundra, like they were walking on fields of crystalized rock candies. Puffs of white misty breaths went up around their faces.

  All the small bluffs, hills, and rocky icy green plains looked so unsettlingly the same. In fact, so much so, that they had never known for sure whether or not they weren’t actually blindly traveling around in circles. Except for this, that Timothy felt absolutely certain his new intricate compass, that he’d found hidden away in one of the dusty rooms of the Wolcott Manor, had been leading them due north since they’d landed on the plains that morning.

  But by now the sun was starting to settle lower on the horizon, and they were still desperately lost, with a full week’s time left before they were both to be ���reflected back to Earth���, as his grandmother would call it. Which unfortunately was just enough time to run them dangerously close to the end of their food and water rations, but would certainly allow them more than enough time to freeze to death, as Barbara had pointed out, somewhat untactfull
y, during a particularly frigid and blustery portion of the day. And almost when Barbara had begun to strike up her resolve, to insist that they had better find a spot to make camp for the night, the wind blew one last hard gust from what they had assumed to be the northeast.

  ���I say,��� Timothy proclaimed, laughing as he spoke. ���Do you smell that?���

  Barbara’s nose crinkled.

  ���Smoke?��� she said, as if questioning her senses.

  ���Jolly right,��� he said, smiling. ���And fire, and warmth, and people.���

  And by two of those three accounts, Timothy was completely accurate, and should be credited for it. Howbeit, when they’d finally arrived, in the cold and looming dusk, to their horror they found the fort city of Hrim entirely decimated, burned with fire. Its buildings were left smoldering or shattered into pieces, only one wall of one small general’s quarters had remained standing, and in the dark, with numb fingers, Timothy was able to get a fire going with the embers and broken half-burned pieces of old buildings. They wrapped up tightly in their coats, and made beds of scorched blankets.

  More and more, the cloudy and ash filled darkness began to descend upon that sieged and wasted city, too black to see anything of the full devastation before nightfall. And so they huddled in their smokey beds, faces laid down in soot and charred dust; Hoping that, whatever horrible enemy had raged through the outpost city, it would not see their campfire light that night, burning like a beacon across those icy fields, which they’d needed for warmth, and that it, or they, would not come back to attack them in their sleep.

  And that night, Barbara slept holding on tightly to a small red-handled, child-sized dagger they’d found back in Mayfield. This slight comfort helped her to finally rest her eyes, but she could not sleep soundly. In the early morning hours, before dawn, the fire settled and the air grew damp like melted snow; It was spectacularly uncomfortable, but this was not a mission for comfort. Both Timothy and Barbara knew this quite well. This was a mission for bravery, or nothing at all.

 

‹ Prev