The Four Gifts of the King Page 7

  There was no turning back.

  He sat beside him. “Steward, do you remember your sixteenth birthday, when I first told you the story of your birth?”

  Steward nodded. “Yes, very well. You told me how you and mother wanted a son, but you weren’t able to have children. You asked the advice of every doctor and healer in the land. You even considered traveling beyond the pass to seek help, for you’d heard that the king could help you. You never made the journey, but you believed that somehow the king would know of our plight and come to your aid.”

  Logan smiled and nodded. “Yes, yes, that’s just as I told you. And I know you remember the rest. How one day a man came to Aiden Glenn from beyond the pass. He stopped at our house and asked for a drink of water for himself and his horse. I gave it to him, and as he drank, he asked me about my children. I told him I had none, despite our deepest longing to have a son. He finished his drink, looked up at me and said, ‘You will have a son, and he will be strong and wise and will make you proud all of your days. But he will be born to you only if you make an oath with me today that you will send him on a journey on his nineteenth birthday. This journey will take him beyond the pass and along the path that will lead him to the very throne room of the king. There he will learn the meaning of his name.’

  “‘His name?’ I inquired—”

  “‘—you are to name your son Steward.’” A smile lifted Steward’s lips. “Yes, father, I remember.”

  Logan continued. “‘And only the king can tell him his name’s true meaning and the true meaning of your son’s life.’” Logan’s speech quickened as he stared at his son. “Your mother and I made the oath with that man that very day. Ten months later you were born. And now, at the age of nineteen, you must keep our oath and journey to meet the king. Today, my son, you embark on that journey.”

  A spark of confidence returned to Steward’s countenance. He stood and paced as he talked. “For three years I’ve prepared for this journey. At first, it was thrilling. Such a grand adventure awaited me at such a young age. I used to stand in front of the mirror and say to myself, ‘I will see the king. I will stand in his throne room, and he will tell me the meaning of my name and my life.’ I dreamed of it and counted the days.”

  Steward stopped, rubbed his face, lowered his hands, and stared back at his father. “But as the time grew nearer it became a burden. I didn’t want to leave you and Mom. I wanted to be back with my friends, back in Aiden Glenn, and forget this talk of the journey. Please, Father, can we go back?”

  Steward’s plea hung in the air, thicker than the mist over their heads. Neither spoke. This was the most critical moment in his son’s life. Logan reached out and offered him a hand. “Take a walk with me, son.”

  He led them back a short distance down the path; then he turned to follow a tiny, almost imperceptible trail. It led them through a wooded thicket and out onto a large area of flat rock that jutted into the open air above Aiden Glenn.

  Logan stopped and took in the view. “Do you recognize this place?”

  Steward stood next to him and gazed down into the valley. “No. But why does it matter? This event happened nineteen years ago. Why do you think it is still my calling?”

  Logan turned to him. “My dear son, every year on your birthday, the stranger with whom we made the oath appears on this spot atop his horse. He waits for your mother and me to come to this place and bow to him, indicating that we remember and continue to be faithful to our vow. It is our oath, it is your destiny, and you must embrace it with passion and expect great things from it.”

  He grasped his son by the shoulders. “You will see the king! No one since our ancestors has ever seen the king. I am so proud of you—and envious. Please do not rebel against your destiny. It’s a wonderful gift. Embrace it. Embrace it with all of your heart!”

  Logan pulled Steward into his arms, held him close for a moment, let him go, and turned to walk back through the trees.

  Steward followed him to where the two trails intersected. “Father, I know this is the journey I was born to take. I want to see the king. I want to know the meaning of my name and the purpose of my life. But I’m scared.”

  Logan straightened the satchel that hung over Steward’s shoulder.

  My son, this is your moment to turn from a boy to a man.

  “Trust the king. He will protect you. I must leave you now. This decision is yours. I love you, and so does your mother. Whichever way you choose, we will be proud of you.”

  Steward watched as his father walked away, working his way down the trail, his crooked gait testifying to his failing knees.

  Steward ran his hands along his satchel and thought back to earlier in the day. His father had stood, staunch and proud, as he produced the satchel that contained a loaf of bread, a small cask of apple cider, and a fine new set of clothes “to wear in the presence of the king.” His mother had kissed him on the cheek and hugged him as her tears wet his shirt.

  Now, as his father disappeared around a far bend, an unwelcome silence hung in the air, broken only by the rustling of the breeze through evergreen needles. Steward was alone, staring at an empty trail that vanished into the ever-present mist.

  He searched his heart for the courage to continue. He couldn’t let his father and mother down, not after nineteen years of waiting and preparing.

  I vow this day that I will not walk back down that trail to my home until I have met the king.

  A flicker of confidence sparked within him. It was enough. After all, he’d be back home soon, and things would return to normal. He rose to his feet, fixed his satchel on his shoulder, and turned to face the crest of Callater Pass.

  It was time.

  He took a deep breath and willed his feet to move ahead. Each step was calculated. Heel. Toe. Careful. Steady.

  He could feel the cool mist on his face. He remembered the last time he’d felt it, the last time he’d approached the pass—and the fear. But this was different. This was his journey. This time, he would trust the king.

  He looked down and watched as one foot stepped past the crest. Then the other. One more step…and the mist enveloped him. He could only see far enough on the path for one step at a time. He struggled to breathe in the dense, humid air. Step after painstaking step, he eased his way along the path, never knowing where the next few feet would take him.

  Then, just as the mist had enveloped him, it began to thin. Everything around him grew brighter, and ahead a brilliant light waited. Two more steps, and the brightness washed over him. It felt like fire on his skin.

  This will consume me!

  He fought the terror, but he couldn’t go back. Not now. He stepped farther, and farther, each cautious stride bringing him deeper into the light. And then…

  …wonderful…brilliant…warm, like ten fireplaces roaring at once.

  He loved it. It was the brightest sun he’d ever seen. So bright he shaded his eyes with his hands, squinting. As his eyes adjusted, he opened them a bit more until he could take his first full look around. He stood atop a high plateau, with mountains towering up on two sides. The path continued ahead, curving back near the pass. He followed it, and to his surprise it rounded at a point where he could look back down on Aiden Glenn.

  How could this be? Aiden Glenn was so…gray…so dreary…so cold. The mist’s hazy dullness engulfed the town. The colors of the houses were lifeless, the air looked heavy and oppressive, and even in the afternoon sun the town appeared nestled in the shade of some unwanted umbrella.

  All those days he’d spent thinking he was enjoying the warm summer sun.

  I’ve never seen the sun…never really seen it before today. No one in Aiden Glenn has.

  All his life he’d been looking up through a cloudy, gray sky thinking he was seeing the bright sun shining down from a cloudless heaven. He’d spent hours gazing up at the sun and wondering what it would be like to travel to it and walk around on it. He’d wondered what the world looked like to those who l
ive on the sun, for it didn’t look much different from his own world.

  Now he knew—he’d been deceived. He couldn’t look at the sun—the true unshielded sun—without burning his eyes! And the warmth. In Aiden Glenn, even in the midst of summer, the sun was never able to overcome the perpetual gray and persistent chill of the village. Coolness and dampness were a part of life. But here, above the mist, the warmth enfolded him, soaking through his skin to his very bones.

  As he looked down on his village, he wanted to shout and wave and—

  But wait. Why hadn’t he ever seen this place from Aiden Glenn? He’d looked up to these mountains all his life, but he’d never seen the place where he now stood.

  Of course.

  Nothing could get past the mist. No smoke from the chimneys, no sounds or voices, no smells of Mother’s cooking—nothing made its way to this point on the mountain.

  The mist was like a seal. Nothing got out, and very little got in. The little town looked so sad, so lost, and no one down there knew. Life went on as if their sun was bright and the skies were clear.

  I will return and tell them. They must all come up here…after I see the king.

  Steward turned and looked to the path ahead. It wound away from the cliffside and through a beautiful meadow filled with—

  And Steward made his second discovery of this new land!

  Color!

  Flowers dressed in shades and tones he had never seen before in a dazzling display of vibrancy. He picked a few flowers as he walked along and held them up to let the full rays of the sun explode the yellows, reds, and pinks against the azure blue sky. Even their fragrance seemed more powerful and more delicate than the flowers in Aiden Glenn.

  Mother would love these.

  Steward looked around him, taking it all in—the sun, the warmth, the colors, the smells, the warm afternoon breeze that brushed against him. He closed his eyes, put his arms high into the air, and just soaked it in. He could hear the sounds of birds chirping as they flew from tree to tree. He could hear a distant goose honk, and then more and more birds. He opened his eyes, and in the far meadow a herd of deer meandered out to eat the grass that rose to their shoulders. The scent of wildflowers filled the air with a soft, clean sweetness.

  This is bliss! I wish Mother could see this. How she would love the warmth and flowers and the birds and…all of it.

  Callater Pass was already a distant memory. The most dreadful part of the journey had turned out to be a source of wonder, and now he was ready to face whatever lay ahead.

  Steward had walked for over an hour beyond the crest of Callater Pass. How far would he have to go to reach the throne room of the king? Even as he wondered, his pace slowed, his stomach tightened, and a chill ran down his chest.

  He was not alone.

  A figure appeared next to him.

  Steward caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye. He took two more steps then stopped, spun around, and confronted the stranger—

  Relief escaped on a sigh. “Oh…you gave me a fright. I’m glad it’s you. Hello, good Phaedra.”

  The hooded figure was shorter than Steward and wore a simple cloak that folded at the waist and continued up, covering the man’s head as a hood. Steward could see part of Phaedra’s face, but not all of it, even in the bright afternoon sun.

  The Phaedra lived among the people of Aiden Glenn, but never with them. In fact, they held an odd place in the social structure of the village, as they seemed to have in every village Steward ever visited across the land. This place and role stemmed from their history, which itself was rife with intrigue and mystery.

  Steward had long been told of a time when the king’s empire was in direct conflict with the empire of the Phaedra’im. The two powers were in constant war for land and power and people. Great battles were waged, and many of the heroes of Steward’s upbringing were those warriors who won victories over the dreaded Phaedra’im.

  The long strife between the two great empires finally came to an end at the Battle of Kildrachan Plain, a strategic region, where three great rivers converged to form the headwaters of the Golden River. On that plain the king’s army defeated the Phaedra’im and then exiled them to the region beyond his kingdom, forbidding them from ever entering his lands.

  It was in the great and awful battle of Kildrachan Plain that the king’s son had fallen.

  As the years passed, however, the Phaedra’im eased their way into the outer villages of the king’s empire. There they kept a low profile, wearing hoods to hide their faces and taking on servants’ roles. Some tolerated them at first, although many villages refused them any entrance. As generations came and went, however, people forgot how powerful and evil the Phaedra’im once were. They forgot all the blood shed to defeat them at Kildrachan Plain.

  And so the Phaedra’im grew in numbers and presence.

  Though never the focus of any attention, they were always…there. Their reputation for wisdom began to grow, and they were often advice-givers to people of power and wealth. Steward seldom saw a prominent person in any town or village without a Phaedra nearby, whispering to him. They served almost as a conscience to people of distinction. They seemed less interested in serving the more common people, many of whom remained suspicious of their motives.

  Some of the more powerful people of the empire began to accept the Phaedra, and most events held by the wealthy of the land included Phaedra, though always in the background. This created for them a humble and mysterious presence that unnerved some and fascinated others. They were gentle, soft spoken, and reserved. Yet their influence was powerful, and their presence commanded respect.

  Steward’s parents had little positive to say about the Phaedra. They cautioned their children to treat them with respect, but to keep their distance and never seek their advice. Yet Steward had seen many leaders in the village listen to them, and he had seldom heard a negative word come from any Phaedra whom he had happened to overhear. So, on this first day of his new journey, he was thankful for the company of one so familiar, wise, and humble.

  “I didn’t expect to find you here above Callater Pass, good Phaedra.” They were always addressed as “good Phaedra,” although Steward was never sure why.

  “Good day, Master Steward. This is the first day of your great journey, is it not? And how do you find this land beyond Aiden Glenn?”

  Steward looked around as the two continued down the path. “It’s remarkable, incredible. It is so warm and bright and—”

  “—fresh?”

  “Yes, clean and fresh and clear. I have never seen such colors or smelled the air so sweet or heard birds sing so loudly or seen trees stand so tall.”

  The Phaedra looked ahead and slowed his pace. “It is a remarkable place, but do you know where you are going?”

  Steward considered the question. “I assume the path I am on will take me to the king. So I plan to follow it until I reach the throne room.” He did his best to sound confident, but it was hard since he didn’t really have any idea where he was headed.

  The Phaedra continued his slow and steady pace. “And why do you want to see the king?”

  Steward fought to find an inner strength. He could hear his father’s voice assuring him of the importance of his journey. But was his father’s faith enough for him? “Why? The king will tell me the meaning of my name and the purpose of my life.”

  “And then you will return to Aiden Glenn?”

  Was the Phaedra joking? “Of course I will return to Aiden Glenn. It’s my home, and my parents will be waiting for me and watching for my return.”

  The Phaedra continued walking, as if he took no account of Steward’s exasperation. “Perhaps, or perhaps they expect that you will find your destiny beyond Callater Pass and never return.”

  Steward stopped. He stared at his companion as his heart raced. Never return to Aiden Glenn? Never see his parents or friends or home again? Why would the Phaedra say such a terrible thing? It wasn’t right! “I shall re
turn to Aiden Glenn, good Phaedra. I will certainly return.”

  The Phaedra halted, motionless—then gave a brief nod. “Of course you shall. But tell me, Master Steward, how do you know the king wishes to see you?”

  Steward shared the story of his birth and the oath handed down to him by his parents. “So it is my destiny to see the king and learn the meaning of my name.”

  The Phaedra walked on. “Dear Steward, you have done well to travel beyond Callater Pass. Few would have had the courage to do so. You are indeed brave, and for that you will be rewarded. Let me ask you, did the stranger on the horse tell your parents that only the king knew the meaning of your name?”

  Why this question? Steward searched for confidence in his reply. “Not exactly. I believe he said that I would find the meaning of my name as I journeyed to see the king.”

  “So it is on the journey that you will find your answer, but it doesn’t have to be in the throne room of the king?”

  “Yes, I suppose that is right. I guess the king can tell me what I need to know at any point. But I do so look forward to seeing his throne room. Our ancestors spoke of its glory and brightness and splendor. One tale says that all of Aiden Glenn could be built just in its outer court. Another says there are more jewels in the floor than in all the rest of the kingdom. It must be glorious, and I can’t wait to see it.”

  “It is indeed a glorious place. But tell me, if you find the true meaning of your name and the purpose for your life before you reach the throne room, what will you do?”

  Some other place? Where…and why? The journey was to lead to the king. If it does not, what does this journey mean?

  Play along. Confidence, Steward.

  “I guess I will accept the words of the king wherever I hear them. Why do you ask such questions?” His tone bordered on impudence.

  “Why, my dear Steward, it is because I know the meaning of your name and the purpose for which you were born.”

  “You…you do?” Steward stopped and stared at the hooded figure. He could make out only a few features of his face, like the curve of his chin, part of his mouth, the end of his nose, and the white glare of his eyes.