Steward couldn’t sleep. He tossed about trying to escape thoughts of the threatening day that lay ahead. At once he was jolted by the sound of a knock at the side window of the house.
Obed was already on the move, throwing his robe around him and easing his way toward the window. As he approached, the knock came again.
Steward crept up next to Obed, prepared to run for his life.
They peered out the window and eyed a figure crouching near the high hedge that surrounded Obed’s property. The figure motioned for Obed to open the door.
Steward strained to see the man’s face. “Who is it?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t sense he’s here to harm us.”
Here’s hoping he’s right. Steward watched as Obed unlatched the door and let the man in. Once in, he moved to the center of the room, away from the window, continuing to crouch until he knew he was out of view.
Steward and Obed stood back, but when the man lifted his hood, Steward recognized him. It was the same man who had walked with him his first day in Seudomartus.
“He’s from Starr Hill,” Steward whispered to Obed. “I met him on the way to your house.” Surely if we weren’t in danger before, we are now.
Obed eyed the stranger. “Speak your name and state your business, or I will sound the alarm and have you arrested.”
“My name is Zanon, and I am here to tell this young man where he can find his Transmitter.”
“You’re from Starr Hill, is that right?”
“I am. And you are Obed the Teacher. I know you don’t approve of who we are or what we believe, but I beseech you to let me speak openly to Steward about the matter that is most urgent on his heart.”
Obed looked at Steward, and Steward nodded. Might as well hear the man out.
Obed’s lips thinned. “You must speak clearly and leave us then as quickly as you came.”
He sat on the floor in front of a couch, motioning to Obed and Steward, who joined him. “Steward, we have learned of your journey and your encounter with the king through a Transmitter. We know the king wishes you to hear his voice once again so that he may lead you to himself. We have a Transmitter, and I will take you to it so that your journey may be complete.”
Steward fought to catch his breath. Was this a trap? Was he being deceived? Or was this his last chance to hear the king’s voice?
This is the first person in this city who claims to have a Transmitter. I have to trust this man. It might be my only opportunity.
“When do we go?”
Obed glared at Steward and gave a quick shake of his head. “How do we know we can trust this man? He may be from the populace setting a trap for us to condemn ourselves. It is not safe, Steward.”
Zanon held his hand out. “No, it is not safe. But what I am telling you is true. We meet three times a week on Starr Hill. We have to vary the dates and times because those who seek to annihilate us are watching for an opportunity to attack. I will not tell you where or when, but when I come for you, you must be ready to go. Do you understand?”
Obed and Steward both nodded, and Zanon looked at Obed. “You are going also?”
Obed smiled at Steward and then looked back at Zanon. “Yes, I am going as well. If the king’s voice can really be heard, then I must hear it, if you will allow me.”
Steward smiled and patted Obed on the shoulder. “If I go, Obed must come also.”
Zanon paused. “The leader may not be happy with this, but we are instructed to do all we can to help you complete your journey, so I will lead you both. Just be ready whenever I come for you.”
He slipped the hood over his head and was away out the back door, disappearing into the darkness.
Steward stood next to Obed as they stared out into the night, then closed the door and faced his friend. “I guess we’ve crossed the line. There’s no going back now.”
Morning came, and a sense of unease filled Steward’s and Obed’s breakfast conversation. Obed laid out his plan.
“We will walk straight to the plaza through the main streets at the height of the market hour. The congestion of people will make it difficult for us to be accosted. Then we’ll enter the plaza and walk beside the produce carriers, who wheel their large carts across the plaza like ferries across the lake. My father worked in that trade for most of his life. I know these men, and they will not allow anything to happen to me as long as they have the power and numbers to prevent it. If we move with speed, we will make it into the Halls of Wisdom in safety.”
“But won’t we be arrested in the Halls?”
“No. There is no police action of any kind allowed inside the Halls, unless someone’s life is in danger. We will be safe once inside, as long as we go about our business.”
He hoped his friend was right. It was all about trust now.
“And what about when we are finished?”
Obed stared at him. “I have no idea. We will have to make it up from there. But one thing is for sure: if you don’t find what you are looking for in the Halls today, we will need to be far from Seudomartus by nightfall.”
“And what about Zanon and the Starr Hill gathering? How will they find us?”
“I don’t know, but it will do no one any good if we are thrown in prison—or worse. We must first look out for ourselves and then hope to find the Starr Hill gathering.”
No, I won’t leave here without the Transmitter. Where would I go? Regardless of how this day goes, I have to hear the voice of the king again.
Obed paced the floor for a moment then stopped and turned. “Steward, do you really need to see these last two people? Nagas will confront you without mercy, and Philandra will not yield until your story has been left in shreds. If the Transmitter is with the Starr Hill gathering, why not go there and escape these confrontations?”
Steward wanted to agree, to skip these last two confrontations. He questioned why as well, but the king’s words came to him again, “Trust me.”
“Because this is the journey the king asked me to take. For what reason I don’t know. But even though it may bring me pain and suffering and even lead to death, and though at this moment it makes no sense to me to do so, I’ll trust him and I will obey.”
Obed nodded.
Obed’s plan worked just as hoped. They left the house in the middle of the busiest market hour and pushed through the center of the streets amid a throng of shoppers, vendors, and travelers. Steward watched as armed men worked their way toward them several times, but Obed was brilliant at leading Steward to slip away through the crowd.
Finally, Obed smiled. “There it is, the Great Plaza. The Halls of Wisdom are just a hundred yards away.”
“Obed, more guards!”
The armed men emerged from a side street and spotted them.
“Careful, go slowly now.” Obed walked into the plaza, and just as the first of the armed guards was upon them, he called out, “Albert, my dear old friend, how have you been?”
A huge man with enormous arms, who was moving a mountain of produce in a two-wheeled cart into the plaza, stopped when he heard Obed’s voice. He put his cart handles down and came to Obed with a wide grin. “Obed, I haven’t seen you around here for weeks. How is your father?”
The small band of guards stopped.
Steward couldn’t blame them. Obed’s friend was enormous.
“My father is well but misses you all greatly. May my friend and I walk with you and your companions as we talk? We are going to the Halls today.”
“Of course. It would be our pleasure.” Albert shouted over to three other carters, each of whom was every bit as huge as he was. “Hey, fellas! This is Obed, Troyer’s boy. Mind if he walks along with us?”
No one did, and they all had greetings for Obed’s father. Steward followed Obed as they worked their way to the center of the convoy of produce carts and started across the plaza. Through the lettuce and turnips, they watched as their pursuers could only follow at a distance behind them.
They were safe—for now.
Once they approached the Halls of Wisdom, Obed thanked his friends. Then he and Steward hurried up the steps and went inside. Obed straightened and assumed the posture of a regular guest inside the enormous structure.
“Welcome to the Halls of Wisdom, Steward.”
With all the tension of avoiding capture, Steward forgot for a moment where he was. He caught his breath and let his gaze take it all in. “Amazing! I can’t believe I’m here.” He couldn’t hold back a grin. “Wait until Dad hears this story.”
The Halls of Wisdom were more splendid than he ever could have imagined. All the opulence of Petitzaros or Tristin’s mansion couldn’t compare.
Steward craned his neck as they walked. Towering ceilings suspended by cypress beams held chandeliers made of jeweled glass, which created patterns of rainbow light in every direction. Marble, ivory, and precious stones lined the floors and walls, and every detail of carved stone was gilded with gold. Paintings of great thinkers lined the hallways, and the words of the ancestors were carved across the top of every door and passageway.
Melodora was right. The kings’ words are here. Everywhere. Steward’s attention was broken as two men rushed toward them and summoned Obed.
“This way, quickly.”
They escorted the two of them through a side door and into an inner chamber, then closed the door behind them.
“Teacher, you have risked your life to be here today. Everywhere there are men looking for you both. You have been accused of associating with the Starr Hill fanatics and of speaking heresy regarding the old king-myth. Is this true?”
Obed held a steady gaze. His tone was sharp and sure. “Since when is it against the law to speak of the king-myth? And when did it become a crime to associate with the Starr Hill fanatics? Though they have been frowned upon, how did it come to this?”
One of the two men drew closer to him, speaking now in an urgent but hushed voice. “Pressure has been mounting for months. Those who oppose all such teachings regarding the king-myth have been looking for a spark to ignite the fire that they could use to consume their enemies on Starr Hill.”
The second man looked at Steward. “And they have found just the spark they needed.”
Steward gasped. “Me? Are you saying I have caused all this to happen?”
The first man nodded. His expression grew pained. “I am afraid so. Your arrival here and the news of your story has generated great excitement among the Starr Hill Faithful. And it also fueled anger and resentment in their enemies. This was the rallying cry they needed, and now they have launched a full vendetta against all who speak of or believe in the king-myth. And especially you two.”
The second man furrowed his brow. “How did you get to the Halls?”
Obed grinned. “Carefully, and with the help of friends. The greater question is, how shall we get out of here?”
The first man responded. “We have ways to get you out. Come, we must move at once.”
Out? That’s not an option!
“No.” Steward stopped. “We can’t go yet. We have come to have an audience with Nagas the Skeptic and Philandra the Wise. I cannot leave until we have spoken with them both.”
“You can’t be serious!” The second man looked like he was about to explode. “We may be able to escort you safely to the private chambers of Nagas, and perhaps, if we are most careful, we can get you through the servants’ passages and near the outer reception rooms of Philandra the Wise. But either one can have you bound and handed over at their will.”
Obed cocked his head. “I thought police action was forbidden in the Halls of Wisdom.”
The first man raised a hand toward them. “These are not ordinary times, my friend. One who is considered an enemy of the personal quest for truth and knowledge is an enemy of everyone—both inside the Halls and out. The furor that is being raised is so great that even the sacredness of the Halls themselves may not be enough to save you.”
Steward knew he was not an enemy of the quest for truth. He just knew the king was the truth.
“I don’t care. We must make these audiences. I won’t leave here until I have accomplished what the king asked of me.”
Obed stood tall beside him. “I agree.”
The two men looked at each other and shook their heads. The first looked back. “Very well. When are you scheduled for your audience with Nagas?”
“Eleven,” Obed answered.
“Then let’s be off.”
The two escorts led Steward and Obed down a back hallway, across a small, unoccupied foyer, and through two gathering rooms. They proceeded up a short stairway, and soon they rounded a corner and disappeared into the private chambers of Nagas the Skeptic. The older man knocked and was allowed entry, followed by Obed. Steward could hear the discussion. Obed was greeted with politeness, and Steward was asked to join them in the sanctuary of private inner chambers. He was relieved to get out of sight of passersby. However, once he was in the presence of Nagas, his relief disappeared.
The renowned skeptic had piercing blue eyes that seemed never to leave Steward. “So this is the young adventurer who insisted on meeting with me to discuss the king-myth. Why are you bothering yourself, and me, with this foolishness?”
Steward’s knees quivered. His mind went empty.
Think, c’mon, think!
He struggled to mumble a few words. “I…that is, my father…this journey that I am on…I need to ask five wise people about the…I came here to ask…”
Nagas snapped a look at Obed. “Obed, why have you brought this stammering young fool to me?”
Obed put his hands up, pleading. “Please, honorable Nagas, just give him a moment to organize his thoughts. We have been through a great deal today.”
Nagas looked back at Steward, sized him up and down, and snorted a reply. “Very well, take your time, but answer me well. I have little time for fools.”
C’mon, Steward. Think. This is your chance. Just tell him the truth. “I have come…I have come because the king spoke to me and sent me to see you.”
“The king…spoke to you?” Nagas sneered and gave an indignant chuckle. “You are quite insane. Young man, listen very carefully to me.” The Skeptic walked up to Steward and stood so close that his breath hit Steward’s face as he spoke.
“You are an uneducated, naïve, and gullible young boy. You have been deluded into believing there is a king. That alone is nonsense. There is no proof of a king. No one has seen the king. No one has heard the voice of the king. Most everyone with any common sense lives a happy and normal life as if there were no king. Furthermore, we do not need a king, we do not want a king, and we do not and will not believe in a king. So why would a nonexistent myth suddenly speak to you and send you to me? What could you possibly want from me? Tell me, boy, tell me!”
Steward’s heart was beating so fast he thought he would faint. He grasped his chest to help his breathing, and it was then that his hand felt the lump in his inner pocket where he kept the spectacles given him by Dunston. He could hear the little creature’s words, “Only use the glasses when you need to see reality amidst illusion.”
If there was ever a time, this was it.
Steward fished the small glasses out from his pocket then opened them and placed them on his nose.
Nagas stepped back. “Are those glasses to make you look wiser? Well then, let’s hear your learned reply.”
Steward looked up at Nagas—and gasped. The Skeptic’s face had no eyes in the sockets or ears on the sides of his head. And out of his mouth came a braying sound, like a donkey. Steward lifted the glasses to see the scrunched-up face of his accuser, then let them down again and saw the blind and deaf figure before him, braying away.
What had Dunston said? The spectacles help you see the kingdom the way the king would have you see it. Everything else is illusion.
Steward’s nerve returned and his mind cleared. He removed the glasses, placed them back in his inner vest pocket, and looked straight at the great Skeptic.
Courage, confidence, trust the king. They all flooded over him as he spoke.
“You have eyes, but you cannot see. You have ears, but you cannot hear. And when you speak, you make no more sense than a braying she-ass!”
As a dumbfounded Nagas stepped back, Steward went on. “I came here on the instructions of the king himself to ask you the whereabouts of the Transmitter. But I can see now why I was sent to see you, for you are the reason Seudomartus has become such a hostile place to the king—you and Mattox the Great and Hambry the Pious and even Melodora. You all claim such wisdom, but none of you has eyes to see the king or ears to hear his voice. And so when you speak, you all sound wonderful to each other, but in reality you are no wiser than a common donkey in the field.”
“Get out! Get out, you impertinent, stupid little boy—!”
But before Nagas could finish his yelling, Steward turned to leave. “Come, Obed. There is nothing more for us here.”
The two men who escorted them down the hall stared at them, mouths agape.
“Great lord of the sea, I have never heard anyone speak to Nagas that way,” the first man said to Steward.
“And I have never seen him nearly speechless before, either,” added the second, a small gleam in his eye.
Obed grabbed Steward by the shoulders. “We must surely flee this place now. Nagas will call out all the powers aligned against us. We are no longer safe here, not even in Philandra’s chamber.”
Steward placed his hand on his friend’s arm. “Obed, you have been my friend and closest ally through this entire ordeal. Please don’t fail me now. You know I must see Philandra the Wise, no matter what the cost. It’s the command of the king.”
Obed locked his eyes on Steward’s, then he placed his hand back on Steward’s. “I know, I know…and you will obey him.”
Steward nodded. “And I will trust him. Will you?”
Obed looked down the halls at the commotion their presence was causing. “Right now, I have no choice.” He turned to his two friends. “Can you still get us to Philandra?”
The journey took over an hour. The four figures worked their way through a basement tunnel and then walked with care through the servants’ quarters, trying not to attract attention. When they reached the far side of the Halls from underneath, they walked up five staircases, being careful at each one to wait until the traffic cleared.
Still, Steward guessed they had little chance of making it all the way into Philandra’s chambers. Surely by now the main Halls were filled with armed men looking for them.
As suspected, when Steward peered out from behind a storage closet door, he could see a parade of pursuers combing the Halls for them.
Obed eyed the door to the reception chamber of Philandra the Wise then turned to the two who had escorted them. “Thank you both for your help. We could not have made it this far without you. Now please go so that you won’t be caught and associated with us. We’ll go to our fate, but you must save yourselves while there is still time.”
The two men nodded, clasped Steward’s hand, and then they were gone, back down the passageway from which they’d come.
Obed turned to Steward. “Well, this is our final stop. If we wait until the hall clears, we may be able to run for it. But even if we make it, we may be taken prisoner right in Philandra’s reception room. There is no certainty of refuge anywhere now.”
The king had sent him such a good friend in Obed. Steward nodded. “Let’s make our best effort. That is all the king has asked.”
The two waited until the hallway cleared, and then they emerged from the doorway and walked as fast as they could without breaking into a full run. As Steward’s hand reached for the door handle of the reception room, he was grasped by the shoulder and spun around. He could see Obed already struggling with two men who had grabbed him.
Steward fought, but he and Obed would not win against the greater number of assailants. As the stronger men gained control, they pushed Steward and Obed to their knees, and their pursuers began to bind their hands behind them.
At once the doors to the chambers of Philandra swung open, and out walked a woman of unspeakable beauty. Her long, flowing robes floated along the hallway as she approached.
“Who are these men, and why is anyone being bound in the Halls of Wisdom?”
The lead guard scrambled to his feet and looked down as he spoke. “Honorable Philandra, these are the two fugitives who are spreading the heresy regarding the king-myth and stirring up trouble among the Starr Hill fanatics.”
“Obed, Teacher, are you really a fugitive as they say? And this must be Steward.”
He looked up, and as his eyes met hers he lost the ability to speak. Only Claire could match her in beauty.
She smiled at him. “Do we not have an audience scheduled for today—in fact, for this very hour?” She turned to the armed men, and the fire in her eyes gave Steward hope. “And would you beat and bind my guests right outside my own chambers?”
The guard stuttered a reply. “Most honorable Philandra, we, we apologize for this skirmish. We will release them as you ask.” Then his voice strengthened, and he lifted his eyes to look straight at Philandra. “But when you have finished with your audience, these two men will be arrested and tried and punished for their crimes. We will be back for them.”
Steward looked around. There was no place for escape.
This is where it may end, but I will trust the king.
Steward’s attackers backed away from him and Obed. Loosing the bindings on their wrists, he and Obed stood. Philandra escorted them into her chamber.
Obed bowed to her. “Thank you, Philandra, for your kindness.”
She looked out her window, and from where Steward stood he saw the angry crowd outside. “I fear I have only postponed your troubles. However, I do have the power to give you safe passage out of Seudomartus. My entourage will be leaving the Halls this very afternoon on a journey to Ascendia. You may join them and receive clear passage well beyond the city gates.”
Obed turned to Steward, and a smile of intense relief flashed across his lips. “That is wonderful news. Thank you for your graciousness.”
Had the king known, when he sent Steward here, the effect his presence would have? “I too thank you, my lady, for your kindness. I never meant to bring such turmoil to Seudomartus when I arrived.”
That brought her around, and she locked her gaze on him. “What did you mean to bring, young Steward? What brought you here?”
Dare I tell her? If I’m honest with her, will we lose our safe passage out of the city?
It didn’t matter anymore. The fear that once held Steward in bondage was being replaced by a growing sense of the king’s presence. And peace and courage accompanied it.
Before he could speak, Obed responded. “My friend Steward has come to Seudomartus at the request of the king himself. And our visit to you was also at the king’s direct request.”
Steward watched Philandra’s face for signs of anger or repugnance.
All she did was smile. “Heard from the king? Directly, you say? How marvelous. Oh, Steward, you must be so honored, so thrilled to have been chosen to hear from the king. What was his voice like?”
He studied her as she moved closer to him. Does she really believe me? “His voice…it was magnificent. Deep and warm, yet powerful and reassuring. You…you believe me then?”
“Believe you? Why, yes. Why wouldn’t I believe you?”
“Well, no one else has…except for Obed.”
Philandra took him by the hand. “My dear Steward, everyone has a right to believe whatever they want. That is the beauty of this land. We cherish everyone’s vision of truth and beauty. That is why I freed you just now. You have every right to receive your truth from the king’s voice. We are committed to openness and the pursuit of truth. Every voice must be heard, and every belief must be met with tolerance and love. When we lose that, we cease being truly human.”
She walked across the room, turned, and looked back at Steward. “You do believe that, don’t you, Steward?”
Steady, push on but be cautious.
“Yes, I believe so. But now that you know the king does speak and wants to be heard by all his people, surely you will help me find the Transmitter and hear his voice for yourself.”
Philandra gave a wave of her hand. “It is enough for me to know that you hear his voice. I have my own voices that I hear, that I look to for truth and guidance and a sense of the real. Would you like to hear those voices? Or what about the Cosmers, who find truth in the stars? Or the Planters, who find their truth in nature and its many gods? Do you wish to hear their voices and follow their truths? And there are the Dawners, who find truth in pursuit of suffering, or the Epists, who find truth in knowledge and understanding. Do you want to hear their voices and follow their truth?”
Philandra stopped, although Steward sensed she had countless more examples.
He wasn’t sure why, but he sensed what he was about to say would mean the difference between freedom and death. “I do not know these other truths about which you speak. I only know that the king spoke to me. I heard his voice, and he has called me to this place to find the Transmitter so I may approach the throne room of the king. Will you help me?”
Philandra gazed out her window onto the long promenade and the Sacred Mount that loomed in the distance. Then she turned back to look at Steward. Her eyes had lost their glimmer. Now they were colder, calculating.
“You have a choice to make, young Steward. If you are to leave here and escape to freedom, you must leave me with the assurance that you will pledge yourself to pursue all truth wherever you find it, not just one truth in one place. There is no one truth, Steward. Do you understand that? Expand your search. The king-myth will demand your full allegiance and cut you off from all other sources of truth but itself. It has demanded such of everyone who has ever pursued it, and it will for you. For that reason, you must leave it behind. It is only in the defiance of any one great truth that we can all live together in peace. And that is my greatest desire—that we all live in unity and peace. That unity is only possible through an abandonment of the idea of any one truth and the joyful pursuit of truth at every level and in all things.”
She walked to Steward, taking his face in her hands, rubbing her soft fingers across his cheeks and looking deep into his eyes. In a silky-smooth voice carried on the sweetest breath, she concluded, “You will give up your pursuit of this king, won’t you, Steward? It is the only way to real freedom and peace and serenity. Give it up and I will help you find favor again here in Seudomartus. Give it up and you can live here in harmony. Give it up and you can enjoy the Halls of Wisdom whenever you want. Give it up and you can live out all your days in happiness and contentment. Give up your search, Steward, and I will set you free.”
He was intoxicated with her beauty and mesmerized by her voice. Her words seemed so right and true. Perhaps his journey was finished. Perhaps he could stop here and enjoy this place—
“No!” Steward jumped back, pulling free of her hands. “I am sorry, Philandra, but I must be true to what I have seen and heard. I do not know where real truth may lie, but I know that I must follow the king’s voice. I cannot stay here, and I cannot abandon my journey.”
Philandra stood firm, staring at Steward with a fierce glare and speaking with a venom that pierced him. “Very well then, that is your choice. You shall not be free! For there is only one thing that cannot be tolerated in Seudomartus, and that is intolerance itself!”
She stormed out of the chamber and into the hallway. “Guards! Take these men away and do with them as you please. They are traitors and enemies of Seudomartus!”
Obed looked at Steward. “The table!”
He thought for a moment and then realized what Obed was asking. He reached down and picked up the heavy bronze table that sat next to his chair. He ran toward the great window that looked out on the plaza and hurled the table through it. The crash sent glass flying in every direction. He and Obed jumped through the gaping hole and plunged down onto the plaza. Bruised and shaken, Steward struggled to his feet and started running.
“Obed! Guards! Here they come!”
A band of men had been waiting for them outside the main doors and came running at the sound of breaking glass. Obed and Steward ran to the edge of the plaza. Just in time, produce carts came from everywhere, blocking the path of the pursuing guards.
Steward heard the captain of the guard shout at Albert, “We will be back for you later!” Then they pushed the carts aside and were after Steward and Obed again. But by that time they’d reached the dense forest past the edge of the plaza.
People everywhere were shouting to the guards and pointing out their position.
Obed ran at his side. “All of Seudomartus is against us now. Steward, we’re out of options.”
They emerged from the trees and Steward looked for an escape route, but all that was ahead of them was open parks and wide walkways. Steward glanced behind them—the guards were just yards away.
This is it. Our escape is hopeless.
“Whoa, what?” Something grabbed Steward by the ankles. He looked down to see Zanon looking out from a tunnel entrance hidden by an old tree stump.
“Quickly, in here. The time has come!”
Steward grabbed Obed’s arm, and they climbed down into the tunnel. Zanon pulled the old stump over them just as the guards came into view. The three sat silent until the footsteps were gone.
Zanon lit a small torch and moved with haste down the tunnel. “This way.”
They followed the tunnels for several minutes, coming to many forks that Zanon navigated with ease. Just as Steward thought his back might break from hunching over and running, they came to a long ladder that went up a shaft as far as they could see.
“Quickly, up the ladder.”
Steward climbed as fast as he could, with Obed right behind him. The farther they climbed, the lighter it became until at last they saw arms thrust down to meet them and pull them to the surface.
Once Steward was out of the tunnel, a man in a gray tunic shook first his hand and then Obed’s.
“Welcome, my friends. Our time is short, and we must be about our business.”
Zanon emerged from the tunnel. “Good leader, this is Steward of Aiden Glenn and his companion, Obed the Teacher.”
Steward cringed. Obed was not a “companion.” He turned to apologize to his friend, but Obed’s smile told him it was fine.
“Steward, we are honored to have you here.”
Steward turned back to the man in gray.
“Unfortunately, these are now the most perilous of times for all of us.”
“I am afraid I am to blame for that. My visit has brought all of this upon you.”
The leader came to Steward and placed two large hands on his shoulders. “No, Steward, you are not to blame. This is the culmination of the battle that has been coming for millennia. We have prepared for it and are ready. Do not blame yourself. The king has used your visit to bring about his goodwill for this sordid place. And now we must take you to the Transmitter.”
Steward and Obed followed the man across a small clearing. From there, Steward could see that Starr Hill was not far from the Sacred Mount. Indeed, a high ridge hid this part of the hill from the view of anyone on the Mount or in the plaza below. Ahead of him was a thick stand of trees, and beyond that was a tent.
The leader pointed. “There, that is the place where we keep the Transmitter.”
Steward almost shouted. He was about to hear the voice of the king again!
He entered the tent, secluded as it was within a stand of large, sweeping cedar trees. Inside, sitting on a table covered in a fine silk cloth, was the Transmitter.
Steward caught his breath. It’s identical to the one I held in the mountainside.
He walked to it and picked it up, treating it with a sense of the sacred. He turned it around in his hands. Then it came—a soft glow, followed by a light that shone with such intensity Steward had to set it down and cover his eyes. He stepped back as its warmth and brightness flooded the tent.
Then came the voice. The deep, powerful, and comforting voice of the king himself.
“Steward, you have done well, my son. I know that you have faced many obstacles and encountered great danger to complete this journey. Now it is time for you to come to me. Follow the light and enter the throne room of the king.”
A shaft of light shot from the side of the vessel, marking a clear path out of the tent and across the crest of Starr Hill.
“Come, Obed, let’s go.”
But his friend shook his head. “No, my friend. This is your journey, and now you must complete it alone.”
Before Steward could argue, shouts and screams sounded from outside. He ran from the tent, followed by the others, and saw hundreds of armed men ascending the hill.
Steward looked to the path illuminated by the shaft of light. “I’ll never make it.”
The Starr Hill leader pointed across the plain. “Yes, you will. You must! Follow the light, Steward, and we will do the rest. All of you, come with me.”
Steward watched as the band of Starr Hill Faithful and his dearest friend, Obed the Teacher, ran toward the clearing in full sight of the pursuing mob. The sound of arrows pierced the air, filling the sky and falling to earth on top of the fleeing band.
Run, Obed. Dear friend, run for your life!
Steward watched in horror as several of the Starr Hill Faithful fell to the ground. He was paralyzed, frozen by his fear and pain. Then behind him, from the tent, the voice of the king called him.
“Come to me, Steward. Come now!”
This was his only chance.
As the angry mob moved on the fleeing band of Starr Hill Faithful, Steward spun around and ran. The shaft of light pointed him to the crest of the hill. He ran with all his energy. The shaft of light led him to the edge of the hill, well hidden by a stand of willows.
He stopped to catch his breath and crouched down as he looked back at the clearing.
Dozens of bodies lay on the ground, pierced by the arrows of the pursuing mob. And then, as he watched, Obed, the wise and kind Teacher, fell lifeless to the ground from one arrow that pierced him straight in the heart.
“No!” Steward wanted to rush the mob and avenge the murder of his dearest friend, but the pursuers heard his cry, turned at the sound, and began moving toward him.
Steward scrambled to his feet and ran for his life, following the shaft of light and nearing the edge of the hill. Then he stopped.
Where is the castle?
He could see no great castle or any entry to the king’s throne room, just the shaft of light shooting out into space.
There was only an open field ahead of him now, with no cover for protection.
“Where am I to go? I don’t see anything! Where are you?”
The king’s voice came to him once again. “Follow the light, Steward. Come to me… and trust me.”
Filled with hope, he jumped from the line of deep willows and out into the clearing, running as fast as he could toward the crest of the hill.
But the clearing was too wide. His pursuers were upon him.
Steward felt a searing pain shoot through the back of his left leg, and he fell to the ground.
He tried to pull himself up. He tried to limp ahead, but the arrow protruding from his thigh crippled him. The pain was unbearable.
“I can’t make it. I can’t get up. Help me! I can’t see where I am to go, and I can’t run.”
In his fall, the small set of spectacles had been flung from their resting place in his vest pocket, and now they lay right in front of him.
“See the world as the king would have you see it…”
With the mob soon upon him, Steward grabbed the glasses. He propped himself up and put them on.
Steward looked ahead and unfolding before him was a grand staircase. At the top was a set of golden doors leading into what he was sure was the throne room of the king.
He was there. He had made it.
He pulled himself to his feet and forced himself forward through the searing pain. One step, then two, then…
A second sensation of white-hot pain exploded through his back, and Steward went down in a heap. The glasses fell off his nose. Steward couldn’t breathe, and the staircase disappeared into the sky.
With his right hand he fought to reach the glasses that were just inches away. Behind him he could hear the voices of his pursuers. The world around him began to grow dim as his hand finally felt the metal frames of Dunston’s spectacles. He pulled them toward him and managed to slide them on his face.
As he lay there, his face against the earth, Steward could see the steps to the throne room of the king. He was partway up them, but they were too long for him now. The shaft of light that guided his way was fading, and Steward struggled for one last breath. As he did, the image of the shining castle and the stairs faded away, and he felt the grip of death on him.
In his last moment, he saw a black arm reach out to grab him, and then Steward, the young man from Aiden Glenn, breathed his last.
And out from the depths of Tohu Wa-Bohu came a horrifying and delirious cry of delight.
~~~~~~~~~
Merideth’s words had just left her lips when Reed cried out, “He died? How could he die?”
“Incredible.” Alex sat there. He couldn’t believe it. “How could Dad leave him to die on the steps of the king’s castle?”
Reed shot back. “It doesn’t make any sense. This whole journey, the lands, the king, the lessons, and now he dies?”
Alex nodded to him. “I don’t get it either. There’s so much here to think about, but now he’s died…”
“Um, boys.”
Alex turned to where Merideth held a set of pages an inch thick between her thumb and forefinger.
“We still have this much to go. I think we need to find out if the rest of the story includes our young Steward or not.”
“And if not, why not,” Anna added.
Alex wasn’t appeased. He couldn’t understand what his dad was doing and saying. He knew his dad meant this land for him, and he didn’t want to let him down again. But dying? Now?
Walter stood and walked into the inner circle of the four siblings. He made his way to the fire. “Before you read on, let me ask you what you each think your father may have been saying in letting Steward die right there on the king’s own steps.”
Alex sat silent. What was he supposed to say?
After a moment of silence, Anna spoke. “There’s pain and suffering involved in following the voice of the king?”
“And mystery,” Merideth added.
Reed joined in. “The king’s directions are always clear but not always logical.”
Walter nodded. “And the king never asks us to understand, just to obey.”
An awkward silence followed. They were waiting for Alex. They knew, as well as he did, that their father was speaking to him. What would the wiser, seminary-trained brother have to say?
Walter considered him. “Alex?”
He looked out over the top of them as he spoke. “I really don’t know. I guess maybe Dad wanted me to hear in this story that being faithful means following God’s voice, even when it doesn’t make sense. Even when it involves pain. Even when the way seems hopeless and the journey seems futile.” He paused, fighting against a constricting throat.
He thought about his struggle at seminary. The questions that plagued him and the pain in the decision to leave.
It was clearer now.
“Those arrows are the doubts that the garbage of this world constantly shoots at us. Karl’s brother’s death in seminary was one. My migraines that wouldn’t go away were another. And Mom’s death…they dropped me right at the point that I was preparing to serve God with my life. Right on the steps of the goal. Steward’s death is the death of faith, the death of hope, the death of calling.” Alex looked at Walter. “Steward’s death is my death.”
He clasped his hand across his mouth, and tears flowed down his cheeks.
His sisters and brother stared at him, eyes wide. He couldn’t blame them. They’d never seen him cry like this. Not at Mom’s funeral, or at Dad’s. But now…
He was falling apart.
Suddenly they were there, surrounding him, putting their arms around him, murmuring encouragement. Crying for him and with him.
Letting him know, as never before, that he wasn’t alone.