Chapter 6

New Version:

An hour later, Jane was a part of a caravan, heading out of town. Apparently, when the townspeople had left the square all at once, it was because they'd recognized the warning against 'the false moon'. They had all headed to their respective homes to gather up supplies for the journey and to arrange child care. There were at least two wagons ahead of Jane's and at least three behind.

Before embarking on their journey, Sarah and Georgie had coaxed a dazed Jane into a new tunic and pants made by Tailor Tomlinson, new boots made by Georgie, lightweight chain mail that Sarah and her mother had crafted, and various other accessories provided by crafts-and-tradespeople of the town.

Jane, Sarah, Georgie, and Bear shared a wagon, driven by Farmer Beverly, with Kate next to him. Rufus was on another wagon, somewhere ahead of them. Jane sat against the side of the wagon, between an apple crate and a trunk full of swords, watching Bear lazily eat an apple with his eyes closed and listening to her friends argue about the exact wording of the prophecy. She felt as though she were floating just inside her skin, like she was inside her body, but separate from it.

"The king will provide a haven," Georgie said.

"The queen shall provide a haven," Sarah corrected.

"We don't have a queen," Georgie protested. "The king isn't married."

"A lot of early civilizations created after The Rift were matriarchal," Bear said, without opening his eyes. "Female pronouns were often used as a default if a gender was not specified, even after The Reunion." He took another bite of his apple.

"Alright," Georgie said. "What came next?"

"The queen shall provide a haven, and a series of tests for our young maven," Sarah said. "Then -- feats of courage, wisdom, and strength shall…"

Bear opened his eyes. He stared up at the tarp covering the wagon. "Long after the death of this old king, lives a scion of powerful thinking," he said, reciting the first two lines of the prophecy.

"That would be Janie's however-many-greats grandfather, the philosopher Sawyer," Georgie said.

"Following thirteen generations," Bear continued. "Arises three new nations. Within these lands, we'll find a hero to bring peace of mind. In a kingdom surrounded by rough water --"

"That's how we know it's Erinrae," George interrupted again. "It's surrounded by waterfalls on all sides. You have to cross a long, rickety bridge to get to it."

Bear continued, as though he didn't hear Georgie. His gaze was fixed on the kerosene lantern that swung gently from the tarp supports. "…a child grows into a wise ruler. This queen shall provide a haven and test our young maven. Feats of strength, courage, and wisdom, shall forge for this kingdom, a hero tossed, burned, and swirled --"

"Sounds painful," Georgie said.

Jane shuddered. She couldn't remember the last time she'd recited the prophecy from beginning to end. It had become a vague and benign promise of an exciting challenge. Now, it just sounded terrifying.

"…who shall save the entire world," Bear continued. "An ancient evil shall arise, and from her head our hero will prise a crown of jewels, roses, and thorns. A red moon arises and warns our hero that her journey is to begin. Two more red moons alight and within, our hero shall flee and fight shadows of malignant might. She'll face her tests with courage and grace --"

Jane grimaced at that unreasonable expectation, but Bear didn't seem to notice. "…then board a ship to a fearsome place. A sacrifice of blood and bone is how our hero shall dethrone this ancient evil and impending doom, threatening to cast us into fiery gloom. But beware the false moon, which shall arise too soon."

A solemn silence filled the wagon, broken only by the whinny of horses and the creak of wooden wheels on dirt.

"Whew!" Georgie said, breaking the silence. "That's intense. Seems like a lot to ask of one little Janie."

"That's why we're all going with her," Sarah said, gruffly. "So that Jane doesn't have to face this stuff alone."

Jane looked over at Sarah, who gave her a small, reassuring smile. Jane looked away and tried to keep her breathing even. She stared up at the tarp supports, willing the tears in her eyes to evaporate before they fell.

"The prophecy didn't say anything about the hero having friends," Georgie said, thoughtfully.

"King Esomha didn't know everything," Sarah said. "Besides, what kind of hero doesn't have friends?"

Jane closed her eyes and missed her mother.

Old Version:

The carriage is plain but well kept and definitely better made than anything I've ever sat in. Cushions woven from hemp line the seats. I almost groan as I sink into one. Between the bumpy wagons and the hard ground, I'd almost forgotten about comfort. There are some thumps on the roof, I'm guessing it's our packs, and then we're off. Men on horses ride alongside us and probably in front and behind as well. We are well and truly escorted.

"I hope Bear is okay," Kate says. "He was with me, and then he was just -- gone."

I glance over at Bear. He has the good grace to look embarassed, but he doesn't meet my gaze.

"I'm sure he's fine," I say, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice. "He probably just frightened away by the king's men. You know how skittish unicorns are."

Bear glares at me and I suppress a laugh. Kate nods thoughtfully. "I guess so." She sighs and leans back, closing her eyes.

Sarah, who knows more about Bear than anyone else in town, squints in Bear's direction. She knows he's there because she can tell that I'm teasing him. I guess he makes himself visible to her because her eyes widen and then she relaxes, smiling.

I look out the window. The bridge is so wide that it easily accomodates not only our carriage but  the mounted men beside us and enough room for carriages and travellers to pass us going the other way. The city is fairly self-sustaining, so there isn't much traffic. Still, trade is good enough that we pass someone every few minutes.

Past the bridge to my right, I see turquoise water sparkling in the sun, the river stretching out into a ribbon that narrows to nothing. The sky is bright, the air still crisp, even though it's nearing noon.

I suppose I should be scared, but I almost feel like a marionette, going through the motions of this adventure. Nothing that has happened has been my choice. Other people made me clothes and packed my bag and fed me and found me shelter. Even when we were attacked, I didn't fight or flee -- before I could even blink, I was rescued.

I have to be the most useless hero in history. My only job is to exist. I guess that's enough, as I have no real skills, but it's sort of like being an animate talisman. The real heroes just need to find the right cave in the right mountain and set me in the right slot, and boom, world saved. Being the key to salvation is oddly humbling, and kind of -- stupid.

  

***

It takes probably about thirty minutes to cross the bridge, and then we're driving through and enormous portcullis. Apparently, the carriage and men are recognized by the guards because we don't even slow down.

There is lush hillside. I can see sheep grazing out the window to my right, the view often, hindered by a person on a horse. This is the outer, agriculture ring of the city.

I know I doze off because one minute I'm looking at a sheep and now all I see are small houses built closely together, as far as the eye can see. The quiet sound of wind teasing grass has been overtaken by a dull roar of people talking, far off hammering, and the sounds of people living. Eventually, that becomes tedious, too, and my tired eyes drift shut.

The sudden quiet awakens me. I open my eyes, my heart beating fast. Bear has fallen asleep next to me.  Kate is asleep, too. Sarah blinks sleepily out the window, frowning to herself. I look out the window. All I can see is gray, but then we pass through another portcullis and into the inner city. The houses here are large and spread out, with shrubbery working like barbicans. I suppose it's for a combination of privacy and protection, although, the locations of these houses should have served as protection enough, I would think.

The hush must come from the vegetation because I can see people moving along the streets, laughing and chatting with each other. They are all dressed very fine, and I automatically go to compare my rough fabric to theirs, and remember that I'm wearing my new tunic and sit up a little straighter. Even caked with dust, sweat, and fear, Tailor Tomlinson's fine work would hold up against any of the fine clothing of the ladies and gentlemen I can see through the window.

I am limited to see what's left and right of me, so when we stop abruptly and then go through one more portcullis, I know we're at the palace, but I can only see the very edges of the building. The stop and start wakes up Bear and Kate and Sarah tears her gaze away from the window. We all look at each other and smile nervously. King Henry is known to be a wise and just ruler, which usually means the opposite, but as we are generally left alone to live without interruption from too many commandments or taxes, it could be true. His soldiers were pretty gentle with us, as well. Even so, I shiver with trepidation as the carriage door is pulled open.

A soldier looks up at me. "Out, please," she says. She has the same dangerous edge that the other man did, but oddly, the same belevolence. I wouldn't want to cross either of them, but I wouldn't expect anything but a fair fight, either. Oddly, these two people increase my respect for the king.

I'd expected the man in charge to be here, but he's probably off consulting with the king. I step down from the carriage. The mounted soldiers have their swords out again. As the other climb out of the carriage, I look up at the palace. It's even bigger than I remember, stretching out to about twenty feet on either side of the entrance, with spires, turrets, and crenelations, oh my, soaring up into the bright blue afternoon sky. I stretch as subtly as possible. It probably took and hour-and-a-half to reach the castle after we crossed the bridge. My feet are so sore that I worry that there is still skin on the bottoms of them, although, I again, thank Hans in my mind. My feet would be bloody stumps by now with my old boots.

***

"This way," the soldier says. We follow her into the castle. As we enter, two guards at the front door nod in recognition. They glance at the rest of us, and by the curiosity in their faces, I know that they know who we are. Their gazes slide over me and Bear, dismiss Kate, and land on Sarah. They catch each others' gazes and nod.

As we pass them, I refrain from rolling my eyes. I expect the old jealousy to flare up, but for once I'm amused rather than hurt that my friend looks more like an adventuring hero than I do. Sarah hasn't even noticed them, she's too busy staring around.

A large, curved staircase made from a deep, dark red wood glides up to the second floor. A large archway that tapers to a point at the top, with double doors, is set back from the stairs. On either side of the archway, twin staircases rise up, following the arch of the doorway and meeting in the middle at the third floor. A final staircase rises up from that to the fourth floor. The walls of the fourth floor rise up to a stained glass ceiling from which a three-tiered chandelier hangs down.   

The chandelier is made of black iron wrought into swooping curlicues from which faceted obsidion crystals hang, glittering in the candlelight. Each tier of the chandelier matches up with the height of each balcony. An enormous, tear-shaped ruby hangs  from the first balcony half way down to the floor. The ruby glimmers and swings three feet above our heads like a drop of blood captured from a giant.

I remember the room seeming much more sinister as a child, but then the dark stone walls were bare, whereas now, every few feet, colorful tapestries hang from the balcony all the way to the floor. Shimmering gold and silver threads interspersed with blues and greens and more lighthearted yellows and oranges depict famous battles and other historic events. I recognize several scenes as events that were successfully prophecied by King Abydos.

I expect the soldier to lead us up the stairs, but instead, she heads between two tapestries; one of the fabled island of Sitnalta sinking, one of a woman emerging from water, eyes blazing, sword poised to strike. I look into her eyes, and for a moment, feel as though she's looking back at me.

I'm relieved when we duck past the tapestries and through an archway that tapers to a point at the top. We follow the soldier through a winding corridor, passing more archways.

Several of the archways lead to a large kitchen. I can see elegant servants mopping, sweeping, carrying giant bags of flour, mixing bowls, etc. I love watching Kate in the kitchen, her movements so practiced that it almost looks like a dance. The glimpses into the kitchen look like a much larger, more complicated dance. I glance at her and see that she is curiously peeking through the doorways, too. I can see the yearning in her face to detour and explore.

The next archway shows a glimpse of rows of people with needles bent over sheets and tablecloths. The next room has several large looms, the clickety clackety of people weaving identifies a sound I've been hearing for a few minutes. It follows us past a room where people are making pottery, and blends in with a room in which several musicians are arranged in chairs around a conductor. The next archway has a thick, wooden door, reinforced with iron.

***

This is where the soldier stops and knocks. As we wait, the sweet vibration of the violins echo deep inside my ribcage. The door opens just as the music is taken over by drums, matching the beat of my heart. We follow the soldier past yet another servant and  into the room. Narrow stained glass windows line the outer walls casting colorful light into the darkly furnished room.

A large chandelier hangs from the ceiling, also made of wrought iron, and it sparkles with multicolored jewels. The inner wall is lined with bookshelves, and stuffed with books and papers. The library at the old Commissioner's house is pristine, largely because the books go untouched unless I'm visiting. The old Commissioner likes his novels and his son keeps his military and peerage books in his room, according to Manny, the housekeeper. Therefore, the library is dusted regularly and otherwise generally left to me.

The bookcases in this room are clearly functional rather than decorative, and apparently not large enough because stacks of books are also piled in front of the windows and between the two large chairs that face the desk. I note that our packs have been arranged amongst the stacks of books in front of the windows.

Finally, I bring my attention to the area of the room I've been avoiding. The craggy old oak desk  takes up most of the room, also stacked with books and papers, dotted with inkwells and paperweights. Behind the desk is a large chair, one might call it a throne, if one decided to be accurate. On the throne sits the king, emanating. He is dressed in a multi-colored robe trimed in lush white fur, and on his head is a gold crown studded with a rainbow of gemstones.

Everything about his clothing, his posture, the way that the room centers on him says 'ruler', but it's his eyes that define him as a king. Dark brown but glimmering with humor and power, he looks down at us, even though we are standing and he is sitting. It's like a magic trick.

"I would speak to the girl," he says, his voice deep and warm like honey straight from the hive on a warm summer's day. I could swear I've heard it before, but maybe I just recognize the authority. I shiver a little. He sees it. Of course he does; he has been watching me since I stepped into the room.

The soldier bows. "Of course, Your Majesty," she says. "What would you have me do with her companions?"

The king doesn't take his gaze off of me even long enough to look at my companions, however, he does spare a glance for his soldier. "Take them on a tour of the castle," he answers. "And then show them to their rooms."

"Your Majesty," the soldier says, bowing again. She backs out of the room. I watch Kate and Sarah back out too, over my shoulder. I don't dare turn my back on the king, for a couple of reasons. Both tear their gazes away from the king in order to flash me encouraging smiles.

For some reason, their awe of the king makes me feel better.

"And will you be needing me, Sire?" the servant who let us in asks.

"Thank you Geoffrey, that will be all for now," the king says. His gaze shifts from me just long enough to acknowledge the servant. Geoffrey bows out, closing the door behind him.

Bear saunters over to one of the chairs facing the desk and slings one leg over the arm of the chair. For the same reason that Kate's and Sarah's awe made me feel better, so does Bear's insolence. The king acknowledges Bear not at all, but he does follow my gaze, looking puzzled. I realize that I had better not look at Bear too much, otherwise, the king will figure out that we are not alone.

The king gestures for me to sit down. I take the seat next to Bear's, making sure to not look at him. The chair's upholstery is made of well-worn sapphire blue velvet, with thin spots on the seat and where I rest my elbows. The warmth of the king's office contrasts immensely with my first visit. The colorful tapestries help; there is a massive one that takes up the entire wall behind him. It depicts a unicorn fighting a crowned lion in the middle of a forest glade.

The king notices the direction of my gaze and says, "The tapestry behind me depicts a battle between a unicorn and my great-great-grandfather. The lion is supposed to be a metaphor, and the unicorn as well, as everyone knows that they are extinct, but I have my doubts."

I nod. I don't trust myself to speak. I have a tendency to either stay silent or to say everything I'm thinking, with little ability for anything in between. Bear likes letting people think that unicorns are extinct. He uses the same magic to make his horn unnoticable that he's using now to make himself invisible to the king.

"You have noble ancestors," I say, for lack of a better way to acknowledge his story.

The corners of his lips quirk as though he is aware of this. Then his expression turns mildly grim. "I think we both know that just because someone is dead doesn't mean that they are noble. Neither does relation necessarily mean kinship."

His words are cryptic but I feel as though he's addressing my father's reputation as a hero and contrasting that to the reality, and asserting that he feels the same way about his ancestors. Indeed, the king's father was not as well regarded as the current king, but I wouldn't have expected that sort of admission upon my first meeting with him, or upon any meeting with him. I feel myself blush, both disconcerted and embarassed by the intimacy that confession creates between us.

"You have chosen your companions for this journey well," he says, changing the subject abruptly.

Taken off guard, I can't help but snort a little at this. At the questioning quirk of his eyebrow, I mentally kick myself and physically force myself to breathe. "I didn't have much say in who my companions would be," I say. "Although," I admit, "If I had chosen, they are exactly who I would have picked." I blush again. Perhaps I intended to balance the vulnerability he shared with my own, but it has only served to increase the intensity of intimacy. It suddenly feels stiflingly warm in the room.

The king smiles. Then he laughs. "You do not recognize me, do you?"

I frown. I've never met the king before. When my mother brought me to the city when I was nine, we were sent away without seeing him. And today is the first time I have ever come back.

The king rises and removes his crown. He sets it on his desk and then unpins the brooch fastening his cloak.

Bear stops swinging his leg and sits up straight. But the king makes no move toward me, nor do I feel that he would. I can tell that he likes me, though I can think of no reason why, but he doesn't look at me as a man would look at a woman. With his crown removed, I can see the graying of his temples. I gasp.

"You were the man in charge back in the copse," I say. No wonder the other soldier has deferred so completely to him.

The king sits back down and grins at me over his crown. Bear relaxes back in his own seat. The king quirks an eybrow. "You don't remember me from anywhere else?" he asks. "You have been to my kingdom before," he says.

  

***

I frown, searching my memories for any sort of interaction with anyone back then. My mother had told me to stay silent, and I was good at that. I didn't speak at all on the journey into the city, or into the palace. Honestly, I was too overwhelmed by the majesty and scope and business of everything to say a word even if I'd been allowed to. Even after we'd crossed the bridge, headed home in defeat, I hadn't spoken to anyone.

There had been a peasant begging for food a hundred feet outside the bridge. My mother, consumed by her own anger and humiliation had stormed past him. "We're starving our own selves," she'd muttered bitterly, when we were barely out of his earshot.

That wasn't strictly true, although it was close. Moments earlier, with hunger biting into my stomach, I had picked up and pocketed an apple that had rolled off of an apple cart that we were following. I had felt vaguely like a thief even though the cart driver would never have noticed, or missed it.

To get back to the peasant man, I allowed myself to get lost behind another cart and had run back to him. His clothes were torn and he was sat down next to the road with a crudely made crutch lying next to him in the grass.

I handed him the apple, embarassed that it was bruised, but he had taken it gratefully. His smile was genuine, though fatigue and pain had etched themselves into his face. He had several cuts on his hands and face, with a larger gash at his hairline. His eyes, though, danced with amusement at some sort of inner joke, and I remember him mostly because of that.

***

"That was you?" I asked.

"You did that," he said, as though answering a question in his own mind. "I was just twenty years of age, and a new king, my father having died the year before. I often chafed under the yoke of being a king, and would sneak off to the forest to hunt on my own." He smiles ruefully. "I fell out of a tree whilst stalking a deer and gashed my head and sprained my ankle." He touches a small scar near his hairline that I had not previously noticed.

"Dazed, I wandered around the forest for far longer than I needed to and finally stumbled upon the road into the city. I was too proud to identify to anyone, so I sat at the side of the road like a beggar getting colder, hungrier, and dumber by the minute. Finally, a farmer came by and offered me a ride into the city. His was one of two acts of kindness I received throughout that day-and-a-half." He smiles at me. "Yours was the first."

His face turns serious again. "Being spit on, kicked, and beaten just for being hungry and down on my luck made me look at the way that my father had run the kingdom for the first time." He frowns. "When I was first crowned, I was determined to allow my father's advisors to run the kingdom the way it always had been. I wanted as little to do with ruling as possible." He sighs. "I found that an impossible task once I returned." 

He blinks and shakes his head, returning to the present.

"You are well spoken of," I say lamely, feeling as though that's not enough to assauge the regret I can sense from him.

"I am praised for my intentions as though they are actions," he says, smiling sadly. He stands and replaces his crown with a sigh. "My real task isn't to change small, local policies, but to challenge international conventional wisdoms."

I am out of my depth in this conversation, and he smiles at my embarassment as he refastens his cloak. He sits down, which makes me realize that I have risen at some point. I sit back down.

"However," he says, "None of this brings us to the matter at hand." He holds up a book. It's the book about me.

This time I blush so hard that I can feel it in my entire body. I glance at the packs under the windows. Again, he follows my gaze and looks amused.

"This is my own copy," he says.

I do some mental math. If he was twenty when I came into the city with my mother and that was eight years ago and The Librarian is twenty-seven and comes from the city, and is much too young to have risen to the rank of librarian so young without some help.

"You know The Librarian," I say, the statement almost an accusation.

"I know several," he answers, without losing the gleam of humor in his eyes. "If you mean Phillip, yes, of course. We grew up together." He quirks an eyebrow. "How far have you gotten in the book?"

I blush again. At this point, I don't know if my body temperature will ever return to normal. "Halfway through Chapter 1," I say.

He laughs. And then he laughs harder. He stops and then laughs even harder. He laughs so hard, for so long that Bear and I glance at each other. He shrugs. When the king done laughing, his crown is crooked and he has tears in his eyes. He wipes the tears away with one hand and straightens the crown with the other. He catches his breath. "I'm sorry," he says, still chuckling a little.

"Phil's letters have been vague, and now I know why." He grins at me. "He was so looking forward to meeting you after researching you obsessively for so much of his life." He chuckles again. "I wouldn't laugh," he says, but Phil can be such a --" he breaks off, searching for the right word.

He doesn't find it, and shakes his head instead. "He's very stubborn and he generally gets his way, which is how he has managed to get more information on the prophecy than anyone else," he says, holding up the book again before dropping it on the desk and slouching back, clutching at his ribs. He shakes his head. "I just keep imagining the look on his face as you refuse to read the book it took him years to write."

"I wouldn't even talk to him," I say, feeling guilty and embarassed, but I can't help but find humor in the situation, especially hearing it from the king's point-of-view.

My words threaten to send the king off into hysterics again, but he puts a palm to his forehead and takes deep breaths to calm down. Finally, he sits up straight, and still grinning, lets out a breath. "So you don't know what you're doing here?" he asks, and then nods. "That explains your confusion in the copse. So what do you know of your upcoming tests?"

I clear my throat. "I know that there are supposed to be some trials and tribulations, but I don't know what they are, exactly."

The king shakes his head, amused. "Alright, would you like to know about them now?"

Not really, but I can't say that aloud. "Yes, please."

"There will be a series of tribulations, basically a lot of bad things happening, one after the other."

I think about finding out that I wasn't the savior, then that James Anthony Sawyer was a pretender, then losing half of my companions almost as soon as we started out, and now, baring my ignorance of my own fate to the king despite the ample amount of opportunities I had to learn more. All of that on top of growing up with the prophecy hanging over my head, memories of my violent father, my emotionally distant mother, and the intense hunger of my early life. I can hope that my tribulations are over I have a feeling that there is more despair ahead of me.

"There are three trials, tests that you have to pass in order to prove your worthiness as the Hero of Binyne. The first is the Test of Destiny in which a usurper attempts to steal your title."

I blink. "That already happened. A 'hero' named James Anthony Sawyer showed up in town and said that he was the real scion."

The king looked surprised. "Indeed? And you unmasked him?"

"Actually," I say. "Everyone in town knew that he was a fraud except for me and The New Commissioner."

The king raised an eyebrow. "The New Commissioner," he says. "Ah, yes, Commander Ward. He is," the king pauses. "Ambitious."

That's a more polite word than I generally use to describe him. I generally go with 'nuisance', so I just nod.

The king smiles. "It must be galling for him to have backed the wrong hero. I almost pity him, but I feel that this is a humbling that he desperately needs." He looks at me. "I have your second test right here." He opens a drawer in his dresser and places something wrapped in hemp cloth on his desk. He unties the twine holding it closed and pulls out a small tapestry.

It depicts a woman on a horse wielding an anchor like a sword in her right hand. It looks very similar to the statue in the town square, except that the statue doesn't hold anything in her left hand, whereas the woven woman holds a  large slingshot. Cradled in the slingshot is a globe of the world. The woman's focus is on the anchor, though, and it looks as though the globe is about to slip out of the slingshot. The tapestry is woven beautifully but there is a tear about an inch long in the woman's dress.

"My second test is to fix a tapestry?" I ask.

The king nods. "Yes, but you aren't to be given any supplies."

I throw up my hands. "What, I'm supposed to do it magically?"

The king looks at me curiously. "Can you?"

"No!" I say. I realize that I'm standing again, and that I've raised my voice to a king.

He sees my realization but it only seems to amuse him further. He stands and refolds the tapestry. He wraps it back up in the hemp and reties the string around it. "Then this should be interesting," he says.

He picks up the tapestry and walks over to the door.

"What happens if I'm not able to fix it?" I ask.

The king sighs heavily and opens the door. "Then I'll have to kill you," he says gravely.