The Four Gifts of the King Page 19

  Gone were his hopes and desires to meet the king. It was never going to happen. Why did he even start this journey?

  I don’t care how disappointed Mom and Dad will be. I’m through. I can’t go on. There is nothing for me here.

  It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other, and only the thought of collapsing into his own bed after so many years away kept him pressing on.

  “Steward.”

  The same voice, but this time louder, stronger.

  He shook his head. “Don’t play with me! Tell me who you are, what you want.”

  Again, nothing.

  I am losing my mind. It’s like the deceptions at Pitcairn Moor. It’s just the wind.

  He’d listened to enough voices and been proven a fool. The Phaedra had fooled him. Had Zedekai? Dunston?

  Heartbroken. Confused. Exhausted.

  Listen to your heart, Steward. It wants to go home. Mother is waiting for me. I’m going home where I can be at peace.

  “Steward.”

  Steward stopped and listened, craning his neck toward the voice. Oh, how he wished it were Astrid—but this was a deep and commanding male voice.

  He turned back, listening.

  “Follow my voice, Steward. Follow my voice.”

  Steward took one step in the direction of the voice, which led him back down the path from where he had come. As if out of nowhere, there were other voices. Familiar and unwelcome voices. Urgent, pressing, pleading with him, almost shouting at him.

  “No, Steward, turn around. It is the voice of deception.”

  “Go home, Steward. Your journey is over.”

  “The king does not want to see you.”

  “The king does not care about you.”

  “The king has given up on you.”

  “You cannot trust the king.”

  “Go home, Steward. Go home now!”

  He put his hands over his ears. “Stop! I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what to do.”

  Then the powerful voice rang out once more.

  “Be still! Leave him alone.”

  All the other voices stopped. All but the distant caller.

  “Steward, follow my voice.”

  Something in that voice lifted Steward’s despair and strengthened his spirit. Despite his exhaustion, he walked toward it. It led him off the path and through a thick stand of willows and thistles. The stickers poked through his clothes, and the willows snapped in his face. But he continued.

  The voice led him across an open plain and up to the face of a very steep mountain.

  What now? Was this another deception?

  “I cannot climb this. This is too much to ask.”

  “Steward, follow my voice.”

  He leaned against the cliff face and cried out. “I’m exhausted! My strength is gone.”

  “Trust me, Steward.”

  There was an unmistakable power in those words. They resonated deep within him. “I will. I will try.”

  Steward fixed the satchel and Quash close to his side and began scaling the mountain. Every time he lost faith or sensed fear, the voice came again.

  “Steward, follow my voice. Trust me.”

  On and on he climbed. His hands bled from the shale rocks and pine needles as he worked his way through steep, forested hills and up rock faces. His energy was almost depleted, but the voice grew louder with each footstep. He dared not falter. He looked up ahead and saw the sheer face of the mountain open into a cleft that offered shelter and a place to rest.

  I can make it that far. C’mon, Steward. Dig deep.

  He pushed with the last bit of strength to crest the ridge and go through a small opening at the entrance to the cleft, onto level ground. He collapsed, lying in the dirt, sweating and panting.

  “I…I can go no farther. I am spent. Whoever you are, don’t ask me to continue. I cannot. I cannot.”

  The voice spoke again. Only this time, it was square in front of him. Steward sat up with a start and looked around.

  No one.

  It is my mind. I have climbed all this way for an illusion. Wind through the trees.

  Wait. He looked again. On a flat-topped rock, across from the little opening, Steward saw a small object gleaming in the sunlight, sending off rays of light in every direction. He pushed to his feet. Every muscle in his body protested, but with careful, deliberate steps he moved toward the strange object.

  The voice came again—from the object in front of him. “Steward, you have heeded my voice. Your journey has not been in vain.”

  “Who…who are you?”

  “Steward, I am your king.”

  Was this some trick? One more illusion? There was no king here, just this device that produced a strange voice. Had he come all this way for this?

  “Forgive me, but I see no king.”

  “Steward, listen to my voice. It is the voice of your king. You have sought me since you crested Callater Pass. I have been waiting for you and watching over you. I sent you Zedekai when you were lost in Petitzaros. I sent you Astrid when you were being led to the crushing machines of Ascendia. I sent you the Interpreter when your path was lost in Pitcairn Moor. And now I call to you with my own voice.”

  Could this be true? The king, speaking to him? Why here? Why not in person? Desperate hope mixed with confusion and doubt.

  “If it’s you, why can’t I see you? This is not the great throne room.”

  Am I really asking this? If this is the king, who am I…

  “For now, it is enough for you to hear my voice. But I am waiting for you. Do not give up hope. Your journey is not yet complete. Come to me, Steward.”

  He wanted to come. With every ounce of his being he wanted to kneel before the king. To end the journey. To have everything make sense. And to go home. But the king was not here!

  “But where are you? How do I get there?”

  “Pick up the Transmitter.”

  Steward picked up the device and examined it. It appeared to be a small bowl shaped like a boat. Stretched along the rim from one pointed end to the other were four golden strands made of some unusual material. Steward let his finger just rest on them.

  Metal? Wound horsehair? I don’t know this material.

  From the inside bottom of the vessel, between the second and third strands, right in the middle of it, there emerged an arm much like a mast. Atop the arm was a round glass-like object that swiveled in all directions. It was beautiful, crafted with exquisite precision, and calibrated for whatever purpose it was intended.

  With a gentle push, Steward moved the arm. “What is this vessel? What is its purpose?”

  From out of the vessel the booming voice spoke. Steward was so startled that he almost dropped it.

  “With this device, you will always be able to hear my voice. I will speak to you and guide you, and you will always know where you need to go and what you need to do.”

  It was the king, speaking to him, right to him. He was so close. If only Mom and Dad could be here, listening to their king. His shoulders lifted and air filled his lungs, giving him strength.

  “Will you guide me to your palace?”

  “Yes, just follow my voice. But you must leave this Transmitter here. Go to the City of Seudomartus. It is the last land you must visit before you come to me. Look for the Transmitter there, and when you find it I will speak. Follow my voice. I will lead you to me.”

  No, please, not another city. Not more trouble and pain.

  “Why can’t I keep this one? And how will I find such a small thing in such a large city?”

  Why? I’m so close. Why can’t my journey end now? Here?

  “You must trust me, Steward. This is part of your journey. In Seudomartus, find the five wisest and most religious people in the city and ask them to show you the Transmitter. Go now, Steward. You will see me soon, and I will tell you the true meaning of your name and the purpose of your life.”

  The Transmitter went silent.

  The
king’s last words calmed him. One more step. One more land, then the throne room.

  He was going to see the king.

  It was real. All of it. Zedekai, Astrid, Dunston, the castles of Petitzaros, the ramps of Ascendia, the Reflectors of Marikonia…and Claire. All part of my journey.

  And now it would end with his last stop in Seudomartus.

  His strength and courage returned. He scaled his way down the rock face and soon was in the valley below, where he picked up the trail to Seudomartus.

  The five wisest and most religious people in the city. How will I find them?

  As the evening robbed the sky of its last light, Steward made camp for the night. He drifted off to sleep. The voices of the Phaedra were gone now. What remained in his spirit was the painful memory of Claire’s lifeless body, and the hope of seeing Astrid again. Even they were silenced by another voice that played in his mind. He listened to it over and over again.

  “Trust me.”

  Deep in the blackness of the Tohu Wa-Bohu, the assembly of hooded figures considered the scene that played out before them.

  The lead Phaedra stood above the rest, and his voice crackled with menacing authority.

  “The king is a fool. He had Steward in his very presence, and he let him go. That gives us the chance we need to stop this nonsense once and for all.”

  A second Phaedra stood. “Seudomartus was our most strategic victory, and it is the place of our greatest strength. His confusion and doubt will return there. Only this time, when he is most vulnerable, we must end it.”

  The leader nodded. “Yes, we must end it there. And we will use the place that is closest to the king’s very throne room to exact on him his greatest defeat.”

  He looked at the assembled figures and pointed toward them. “Let nothing hinder us from this victory! The future of the kingdom depends upon it.”

  In a moment they were gone, each making his way to his assigned position inside the walls of Seudomartus.

  By midmorning the following day, Steward was standing on the outskirts of the great city of Seudomartus. He walked through its impressive gates, much grander than those of Petitzaros or Ascendia. This city was famous throughout the land for its Halls of Wisdom and the Sacred Mount.

  I read about this place in school, but I thought it was a fable.

  Now here it was, rising up in front of him.

  Straight ahead was the majestic assembly hall. According to legend, the wisest men and women in the kingdom gathered there to discuss important issues and make decisions that influenced everything that happened throughout the land.

  His eyes grew wide. Was he really standing in this place?

  To his right, high atop a hill, was the Sacred Mount.

  It’s real. The mount, the cathedrals. It’s all real.

  Cathedrals and temples with massive spires and immense stained-glass windows towered all around him.

  The grandest religious buildings in the entire world.

  The wisest religious thinkers in the kingdom came here to teach and study.

  He must find a way to see it before he left. For now, he needed to find the Transmitter.

  He stopped. But how was he to find the five wisest and most religious people in the city? He looked all around. Whom could he ask to help him find these people?

  The king has always prepared helpers for me. I will trust in that help again.

  A strange new emotion welled up inside him. Could it be…courage?

  Shouts rang out behind him. “No, you are wrong, Matthew. Truth cannot be limited to one sphere of knowledge or even one divine teaching.”

  “Of course it can, and it must, dear Obed. How else can truth be preserved and taught and followed?”

  Steward halted, turning to see five people seated around a café table talking. Arguing, actually.

  He drew close to eavesdrop, but he was soon discovered.

  “We have a guest among us.” A young woman smiled at him and gestured. “Perhaps you can enlighten us, good sir. We were just discussing the idea that all created things are either good or evil, and yet there is no such thing as all good or all evil. So what is the composition of, say, that satchel you are carrying?”

  Steward hesitated.

  How do I get out of this? Think, Steward. Say something.

  “Well, when it is full of bread and wine, it certainly produces good things. But when it is too heavy on a hot day, it certainly feels like evil to my aching back.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then the whole assembly burst into laughter and applause.

  “Well said, young traveler, well said!”

  They invited Steward to join them, and he was happy to rest his tired legs. They introduced themselves and went back to their conversation. As he listened, Steward studied the participants.

  There was the student from one of the cathedrals on the Sacred Mount; the two sisters from a wealthy family whose father spoke often in the Halls of Wisdom; an itinerant Teacher named Obed whose reputation was well known and admired; a poet; and a shopkeeper.

  At one point when the discussion became quite complex, the shopkeeper leaned over and whispered to Steward. “I’m here to keep their heads level.”

  He and Steward enjoyed a brief laugh.

  The day went on, and after lunch the subject turned to knowledge.

  The student took the lead. “I do not believe that we can know anything for certain. For where is the true source of knowledge? Can any of us say that we have heard straight from the king?” Everyone smiled and chuckled at the idea.

  “Why, yes, I have.” Steward couldn’t believe he’d said that!

  “My dear friends, we have a prophet among us,” roared the poet. “And what did the king say to you, oh most honored one?”

  Despite their mocking, he was in this far, so he might as well continue. “He told me to come to Seudomartus and find the five wisest and most religious people of the city to ask the whereabouts of the Transmitter. The king will use it to speak to me and show me the way to his palace.”

  Silence, then laughter. Mocking again.

  One of the sisters leaned toward him. “Come now, young Steward. Do you really expect us to believe that you have seen a Transmitter and spoken directly to the king?”

  There was nothing left to lose. If he was to be the whipping boy, so be it.

  “I don’t care what you believe. It’s true.”

  And there it was again, courage…and confidence.

  The other sister jumped in. “Careful now, or you will be mistaken for one of the Starr Hill fanatics.”

  Steward’s eyes narrowed. “I…don’t understand. Who?”

  She continued. “There is a small group of narrow-minded fanatics who believe that the king still talks to people, like in the story you just made up. They claim to have a direct line to him, and they gather under cover of dark up on Starr Hill to chant and wail and listen for the king’s voice. It’s quite amusing.”

  The student slapped his hand on the table. “It’s embarrassing, in this day and age. They are all fools!”

  Obed leaned forward, speaking in a lower tone. “And you run the risk of being numbered with them if you keep on with your stories about Transmitters and strange voices. So guard what you say.”

  “And to whom you say it,” the second sister continued in a half-whisper. “It is dangerous to be counted among the Starr Hill fanatics. Many wish them harm.”

  Obed raised his glass. His lighthearted tone returned. “Enough of this. Let us have no more talk of heretics and old fables. The afternoon is upon us, and we must make for the Halls to hear the day’s debate. Steward, will you join us?”

  What? Him? Now? He wasn’t ready.

  “The Halls of Wisdom? I don’t think so, not like this.” He held out his dirty tunic. “May I inquire about a place to stay and bathe?”

  Obed picked up his satchel and rose from his seat. “My place, and there will be no discussion. You will be my guest. Here are the k
eys. It is the mustard-colored house on the corner, just three blocks down. Take your satchel and rest there, and I will come for you just before dinner.”

  Deep relief poured over him. He knew he was to face much here in Seudomartus, but he needed rest and time to think.

  “Thank you so much. That is most gracious.”

  The small band was off for the Halls, their energetic chatting continuing on until they disappeared out of sight.

  Steward gathered his things and headed for the teacher’s house. But soon he was not alone. A man began walking beside him, far too close for it to be a chance meeting.

  “Keep walking and don’t look at me.” The man spoke while looking straight ahead. “I overheard your conversation with the others. I am a member of the Starr Hill Faithful. If you want to hear the voice of the king, I must take you to meet our teacher. He will help you, I promise.”

  Before Steward could reply, or even look at him, people on the street called out to the man with him.

  “I know you. You’re one of those loonies. What are you doing here? Go back to your hill and stay out of here.”

  “Go back and crawl under the rock you came from,” another shouted.

  The yelling grew louder. “You hate-mongers are not welcome here. Go away and stay away.”

  A rock flew through the air, just missing Steward’s head.

  The man turned and ran up a narrow street. Steward froze. Should he follow him?

  Another voice yelled. “Hey, are you one of them? You were with him, talking to him, and I haven’t seen you around here before.”

  “No!” Steward ducked as the man hurled the stone toward him. He lifted his hands up toward the crowd. “No! I am new here in Seudomartus. I am staying in the house of Obed the Teacher.”

  The name of the Teacher calmed the crowd. The man who’d thrown the rock walked to Steward and snarled beneath his breath, “You best stay clear of any of the Starr Hill crowd. They’re a menace.”

  Steward tried to collect himself and made his way straight to Obed’s house.

  Who were these Starr Hill people? And what did the man mean by saying he could help Steward find a Transmitter? That was supposed to come from the five wisest and most religious people in the city, not some fanatic.