It was nearly noon before they returned to the reading of the story of Steward from Aiden Glenn.
Walter took his usual seat back from the main living area. He watched as the four found their way to a sofa or chair and settled in for the next part of Steward’s journey.
Only eighteen hours ago they’d begun this journey.
So much has changed. That’s what prayer will do. Help them, Lord, for what still lies ahead.
Walter continued to study the four. Gone were the stiff exteriors and well-honed facades. In their places were openness, even vulnerability, between the siblings. He never would have thought it possible. Somehow Steward’s journey and his death on the steps of the king’s own castle had dismantled their defenses and reconnected them with their own deep sense of brokenness.
Walter could see that each one of them, in his or her own way, had found in Steward’s journey a piece of themselves that they had lost. And they were still searching, wondering about the impact the story would have on them.
Walter could not be more pleased.
Sam, this is just what you wanted, what you and I prayed for. Now let the rest of the story find its way into their hearts.
Anna agreed to read. “It’s time to find out how Dad will continue a story after killing off the main character.”
She opened the book and read on.
~~~~~~~~~
Three figures walked on a long, open veranda supported by fifty magnificent columns. The air was cool and sweet, and the sun shone brightly, giving off a warmth that touched their cheeks as they strolled along. They looked out over a sweeping landscape of rich fields, towering cedars, and orchards resplendent with fruit. They descended a short staircase that led them to a courtyard, where a tent stood. Great flags flew from each corner, and the tent itself was made of the finest gold and crimson material. There were no sides on the tent, and underneath it they could see a large bed surrounded by attendants. As they drew near, one of the attendants came to them.
“The preparations have been made. We have done all we can. Now we will wait for the king.”
Their wait was not long.
Trumpets blared from atop the colonnade, and from a distant part of the palace came an entourage following the king. As he approached, everyone bowed and smiled, their allegiance to him mixed with the joy of just being in his presence.
The king smiled back and stopped to embrace the three visitors. In his rich and magnificent voice, he said to them, “You have done well, all I could ask for. Thank you. However, as you know, your service has just begun.”
Then the king turned and walked under the tent to the bed at the center. Attendants stepped back, and the king looked at the body that lay in the silk sheets. The king placed his hand on the still forehead. “Young Steward, you have done well. You were much deserving of this deep, cleansing rest. But now your slumber must end, and your final journey must begin.”
With those words, the king drew a breath and blew onto Steward’s face.
Steward gasped and opened his eyes wide.
Where was he? What happened—?
He looked up, and a face looked down into his. Joy flooded him, and he knew that this was the face of the king. He had never seen such a countenance. The king’s face was both compassionate and commanding. It gave the immediate sense of deep grace and absolute authority.
Steward looked into the king’s eyes, so full of love. “I…I’m alive. And you are the king. I must have passed through to the other side. Am I in heaven?”
The king smiled. “No, my dear Steward, you did not die…only nearly.” He took Steward by the hand and sat him up so that he could look around.
Steward waited for the pain.
Nothing.
He reached down and felt where the arrows pierced his leg and back.
All that met his fingers was smooth, unmarred skin.
“How did I survive those wounds? I felt my life draining away and the grip of death upon me.”
“What else did you see and feel?” the king asked.
Steward fought to remember the final moments before he lost consciousness. “An arm reached out and grabbed me, but I thought it was one of my pursuers ready to give me the final blow.”
“Tell me about the arm that reached for you. What do you remember of it?”
Steward paused to rethink the memory. “It was a strong arm, a firm arm…” Steward sat up straighter. “A black arm. It was Zedekai who grabbed me on the stairs!”
“Yes, and he saved you from the mob.”
Steward rubbed his hands again along the back of his thigh. “But what about my wounds? How did they heal so quickly?”
The king’s eyes widened, and a grin crept onto his lips. “Quickly? Steward, you have been with us for months. I had you put into a deep sleep, and these healers have been attending to you until your wounds closed and your strength renewed.”
Steward bowed to the attendants. “Thank you. I thank all of you.”
The king signaled for them to take their leave. “And now that you are healed, we have much to do. Today you will eat and rest, and tomorrow we will talk. I have much to tell you.”
Rest? He was in the presence of the king. Finally! He did not want to rest. He wanted to ask questions, hundreds of questions.
“I have much to ask…and learn. Can we not talk now?”
The king turned back as he exited the tent. “Patience, Steward, you have a lifetime ahead of you. Rest while there is peace in the air.”
After a day of dining on the most wonderful foods he had ever tasted and continuing to rest and recover, Steward was summoned to the king’s throne room.
His time had come.
This is it. I will stand in the throne room of the king.
His excitement was mixed with a deep sadness. He was at the pinnacle of his journey, of his life. But his heart broke as he thought of Astrid, left back in that dreadful Ascendia. And Abner and Edith, struggling on the outskirts of Marikonia to deal with the death of their beautiful daughter. There was Obed, who gave his life for this journey. And so many others…Trevor still in chains, Tristin deceived, Cassandra demanding more paving mixture, and the five deluded elites left to influence all of Seudomartus.
I thought this would be the happiest day of my life. But now I have more questions than joy. I pray the king can help me.
He was dressed in fine but simple robes and escorted by two female courtiers down a hallway too splendid to describe. They brought him to great golden doors. He paused; he’d seen these doors before. He looked to his right and down a long staircase that ended at the edge of a glorious sweeping lawn that disappeared into the distance. As he looked closer, he could see a stain of blood on the stairs near the bottom.
One of the courtiers acknowledged his curiosity. “Yes, Steward, that is where we found you.”
He looked at the courtier beside him. “Where is Seudomartus?”
She bowed and passed her hand to summon him along. “That is a question for the king.”
The courtiers pulled back the large ring that hung in the center of one of the great doors, then released it so that it pounded against the door. At once the doors swung open before them.
Steward’s heart pounded just as loudly. He was struggling to keep his composure.
The beauty of the scene before him stunned him. He had been preparing all these years for this one moment.
This is beyond all I could have dreamt.
The throne room of the king was not opulent like the castles of Petitzaros or the Halls of Wisdom. Yet there was an overwhelming sense of pure glory in the room. The walls were not hung with rich tapestries, and the ceiling was not gilded in gaudy gold as at Tristin’s house. The windows were not stained glass as in the Temple of Temperance, nor were there spires reaching up from each corner.
There was a simplicity about the throne room that was startling, yet the entire place was filled with power and beauty.
Then Steward saw the king.
He was not dressed in flowing robes. He did not wear a crown, not even here in his throne room. But the pure presence of his passionate love and unquestionable power flowed through the room like a torrent.
His voice echoed through the chamber. “Steward, come to me.”
Familiar words. Only now, would his feet move? Steward tried to obey and urged his trembling legs along as he walked to the king.
He arrived before the throne. The king sat and studied him for a moment. He spoke now more like a father than a king.
“I know you have waited long to be in this place. Is your heart at peace here?”
Steward breathed in deeply. The peace here was unlike anything he had ever known. “Oh yes, my heart is greatly at peace here.”
The king rose from the throne and walked to Steward. “Remember this feeling. It is the Deep Peace. It should go with you wherever you go and stay in your heart whatever you face. It is the feeling I wish for all my people, every day. It is my greatest gift to them, and it’s why they were born into this kingdom: to know me, to trust me, and to experience the Deep Peace.”
All the people of his kingdom?
Steward cocked his head. Did he dare ask a question?
“Do you mean the people of Petitzaros and Ascendia too?”
“Yes, and the people of Marikonia…and even Seudomartus. They all were brought into my kingdom to know this Deep Peace.” He paused and then locked his gaze on Steward. “Did you experience this Deep Peace in any of these lands?”
Steward shook his head and frowned. “No, I certainly did not.”
At that confession, the king walked away from Steward as if to think, or maybe to let Steward think. Steward wasn’t sure which, but the time seemed an eternity. Finally, the king turned and came back to face Steward.
“Tell me, Steward, why did you stay so long in Petitzaros?”
No, that’s not a question I want to answer. Not here.
He knew there was no escape from the truth. Steward shifted his weight. What a place for the king to begin. Steward hung his head as he spoke. “I guess I loved the wealth and power that it gave. I loved being able to use the Elixir of Mah Manon to create anything my heart desired. I loved the friends who thought so highly of me because of what I had obtained. I just fell into it all and wanted it all…and more.”
“And what about the Deep Peace? Did you have it in Petitzaros when you had everything else?”
The answer was easy, but the words stuck in his throat. Five years in that place, and never a moment of the Deep Peace. “No, I did not.”
The king paused again. An image flashed in Steward’s mind. It was his mother kneading dough. She pressed the palms of her hands into the dough to force out the air and prepare it to become a perfect loaf. The king’s silence was working the same way in Steward’s spirit.
The king returned to his questions. “What did you feel in those days?”
“Anxiety. I was always anxious and never…at peace.”
“Anxious about what?”
Again the words did not come easy. “That I might lose what I had. That I might fall behind and have fewer rings than my friends. That I might not be doing enough to receive my rings. That I might be missing some way to get more rings, or that my friends might find other and better friends unless I threw greater parties and built a more impressive palace. The entire time in Petitzaros was filled with worry and doubt and frenzy and…despair.”
“Then let me ask you again, why did you stay so long?” There was no accusation in the king’s voice.
Why? Can I tell him? Greed. Lack of trust. Can I say that here? To him?
“I guess I don’t really know. I wanted all the stuff, to be…you know…happy. But I wasn’t, not in my heart, not for a day. I suppose I just got…pulled into it all. And the chains…”
The chains! He’d forgotten about them.
Steward looked down and realized the two heavy gold bands were still fixed around his wrists. The chains were finally gone, but the wide bands remained. Steward reached down and rubbed the skin beneath them.
Again he looked at the king, shaking his head. “I don’t think you ever wanted the people of Petitzaros to wear these heavy gold bands. Will I ever get these off?”
The king smiled with a nod. “Of course. And I will replace them with new ones.”
“New ones? Then we are supposed to wear these things?”
The king waved the comment away. “No, not those.” The king walked over to a large cabinet and took a wooden box from it. “These.”
He opened the box, which displayed two thin, light, fine gold Bracelets. He took a key from a pocket inside his robe and, with a quick turn, unlocked the heavy bands from Steward’s wrists. For the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, he was free of the chains from Petitzaros.
“That feels wonderful.”
The king took the Bracelets from the box and slid them onto Steward’s wrists. Compared to the heavy bands of Petitzaros, the new ones felt like air. Steward studied them for a moment. He had seen such Bracelets before.
“The people of Remonant.”
“Yes, they wear such Bracelets.”
Steward rubbed the fine gold bands between his fingers. “I remember them, but tell me why we wear any Bracelets at all?”
The king turned and gestured for Steward to follow him. “For that, we must take a walk.” The king led Steward into the courtyard and down the colonnade walk. They turned up a staircase that led to the top of the palace. When they reached the highest point on the roof of the great palace, the king looked out over the entire kingdom.
Steward looked too, and he was startled to find that from this point he could see his entire journey. “There is Petitzaros, and I can see the ramps of Ascendia to the east.”
He ran around to the other side of the roof. “And there is Marikonia, and…I can see the Sacred Mount of Seudomartus!”
The king pointed out into the distance. “And look to the south. What do you see?”
Steward squinted into the midday sun. “I see a great plain divided by a mighty river. That’s Kildrachan Plain and the Golden River!” Steward walked to the edge of the palace roof to get a better look.
“I can see everything from here! There is Pitcairn Moor, where I met Dunston and the first meadow I entered after emerging from Callater Pass. There are the woods where Zedekai and I ate after my escape from Petitzaros, and there is the cleft in the mountainside where I first heard your voice coming from the Transmitter. I can see it all from here!”
“And even farther to the south?”
Steward shaded his eyes as he strained to see into the distance. “There is a large gray cloud covering much of the far southern kingdom…it’s Aiden Glenn.” He turned back to the king. “It is my home.” The mixed emotions welled up in him again. Joy for knowing he may soon be going home, but sadness at the thought of his mother and father sealed beneath the veil of clouds.
The king came to his side. “Yes, I see everything that happens in my kingdom from here. And I like very little of what I see. My heart breaks every time I come up here and look at the present state of my kingdom.”
Steward looked up at him. “But you are the king. Why don’t you change things if you are saddened by what you see in your kingdom?”
For the first time, the king’s expression grew sad. “I did, young Steward.”
The king led him back around to the south end.
“Look out over Kildrachan Plain. It was there that I fought for the sake of my kingdom and every person who dwelt in it. I brought my full army to bear against the evil of the Phaedra’im. It was a horrific battle. We lost so many men. My very own son fell by my side.” The king’s words were grief-laden. “And we won. The Phaedra’im were driven out of the kingdom, forbidden for all time from crossing over the Golden River and exiled into the Tohu Wa-Bohu to live out their unearthly existence in the very midst of nonexistence.”
“But I have seen the Phaedra. They’re everywhere.”
“Yes, it is so. The Phaedra’im would only stay in exile if the people of the kingdom refused to give them entry back across the river. So I gave four gifts to my people that they might have a rich and full life—a life of peace free from the Phaedra’im.”
Four gifts, four lands, and four distinct deceptions. Steward began to put the pattern together. “What were the four gifts, and what did your people do with them?”
“You have seen for yourself, young Steward.” The king paused, and when he had Steward’s full attention, he added, “That was the purpose of your journey.”
My journey was about the four gifts? But what of my name? Surely I’ll learn of that as well. Patience.
Steward looked down and rolled one of the Bracelets on his wrists.
“The golden Bracelets. They were one of the gifts, weren’t they?”
The king nodded. “Yes. I gave everyone in my kingdom a set of fine golden Bracelets to remind them that the land they are in does not belong to them. They are caretakers of this kingdom. I won it back for them with the blood of my men…and my son. And now I have given it to them to tend and enjoy and share. Every time they pick up a plow, plant a seed, build a barn, tend to an animal, or trade in the market, the Bracelets are there as a joyous reminder that they are caretakers of all I have given them. I wanted them to enjoy it all, share it among themselves, and rejoice in my gift to them.”
The Bracelets, signs of sharing, rejoicing, and caretaking? That hadn’t been his experience.
Steward shook his head. “In Petitzaros, the bands don’t remind them of any of those things…or you. They have become a curse instead of a blessing.”
“Indeed they have. The people in Petitzaros forgot that the Bracelets symbolized their role as caretaker. Instead they chose to play the owner and hoard them. They thought that by having more Bracelets, they could be happier. And in the whispering deception of the Phaedra, the Bracelets came to mean power and control.”
Questions were swirling in Steward’s mind. “Please, tell me about the Phaedra. They are everywhere in Petitzaros. How did they get there?”
Now the king spoke as if the words were hard for him. “The richest people in Petitzaros received word that the Phaedra’im possessed an elixir that had the power to make them even richer than the golden Bracelets. They were lured into a meeting at the edge of the Golden River. There they struck a deal that changed the kingdom forever. The Phaedra’im convinced the leaders of Petitzaros that with this elixir they could become kings themselves. And so they took the elixir in exchange for allowing the Phaedra’im back into the kingdom.”
Of course! “The Elixir of Mah Manon.”
The king nodded. “And so the Phaedra’im became the Phaedra, and Petitzaros became their first outpost back into my kingdom.”
Steward scrunched his eyebrows. “That’s not much of a change in name— Phaedra’im to Phaedra. I mean, did that really fool anyone?”
The king huffed. “Fool anyone? No, and it wasn’t meant to. That, young Steward, is the lesson you must learn about the hearts of men. People knew the Phaedra were direct descendants of the Phaedra’im. It was taught in our schools, and stories of the great battles were retold in most households across the kingdom. Oh no, people knew. But the hearts of men, if left unchecked, will desire those things that serve only them. If their steps are not ordered by the king’s work, they will linger along the pools of temptation to the things that will offer them power. When their ears are not attuned to the king’s voice, they will itch for the whispers of that which tantalizes the senses and sets greed loose in their spirit. This is the heart that is ready to be led into deception, even when all signs point to danger. So, yes, the name was not meant to hide anything. Quite the opposite. It was to signal the audacity with which the Phaedra would infiltrate and infect the minds and wills of my people.”
Steward understood. “And it started here in Petitzaros.”
The king nodded. “They hated the people of Petitzaros and the Bracelets I had given them, so they filled their minds with thirst for more and more things. As they did, the people exchanged my Bracelets for the heavier bands of the Phaedra. And the Phaedra cursed those bands so that they would grow and become heavier as the wealth of each citizen grew.”
He knew it! Zedekai was right. “So they are curses.”
“The worst kind. They are curses that are seen as blessings. The greater the curse, the more my people think they are being blessed. The Phaedra are nothing if not clever.”
“And the Elixir of Mah Manon is evil also?”
The king took a few steps forward and rested his hands on the top of the stone railing. “Only if it is used for evil purposes. The Elixir itself can be used in wonderful ways. It can build a house for a poor man, provide food to a hungry man, clothing for a naked child, or medicine for a woman who is ill. It can be used to provide everything needed by everyone in my kingdom, but only if it is shared. Once it is hoarded and used to make the rich richer, it becomes an evil unto itself.”
The rich became richer, an evil unto itself. It was all so true. “That’s what it has become in Petitzaros.” Steward thought about how many times he had delighted to pour out one drop and see the extravagance it produced, but only for the rich. Guilt welled up in him. “I would have killed to obtain more of it.” The confession startled him.
“So, do you understand the true purpose of my gift of the golden Bracelets?”
Steward rubbed them again. Light, comfortable, and beautiful. “I do.”
“Then let us look farther east to Ascendia.” The king moved across the palace roof. “How did you find Ascendia?”
That was easy. “Horrible! Do you know they crush people in a great grinding machine to make their pavement for the Ascenders?”
The king nodded. “I know.”
Steward didn’t understand. His tone turned to near accusation. “Can’t you stop them? You’re the king!”
The king didn’t answer. He looked out over the kingdom to the east. Silent.
Steward regretted the tone. This was the king. I have no right! But the questions remained.
The king finally turned to Steward. “Listen to me now, Steward. I know your heart is broken over what you have seen. So is mine. This is my kingdom, and these are all my people. I can do great things for them, but I will not force them to obey me or accept my ways. I have won the great battle for them. I have driven out their enemy and given them the gifts that will allow them to live in freedom and peace. But they must choose that life for themselves. If I force it upon them, I will become to them a tyrant, not a king. Do you understand this?”
He wanted to. He yearned for an explanation, some answer that made sense. He rolled it over in his mind. “I think so…but the crushing machines are so horrible. It must cause you such pain to watch this happening to your people.”
The king walked a little farther toward the edge, and when Steward followed him he saw the great machines in the far distance. Steward looked away, to the king, and saw his chest heave as he breathed.
Steward knew emotional pain when he saw it. And the king’s pain was profound.
Soon the king turned to a courtier who had appeared next to them. He took something from her then turned back to Steward and held it out in front of him. “This belongs to you, does it not?” The king held up the Quash Cassandra had given Steward.
Steward accepted it. “I thought I had lost it in the chase from Seudomartus. How did you get it?”
The king ignored the question. “Do you know what this is, Steward?”
Steward felt its dented edges. “I…I’m not sure. I saw it used as a vessel to carry rocks and…the paving mixture. I saw it used as a weapon against others and as a breastplate for protection. But I am not sure what it really is.”
Could it be? Steward looked to the king. “Was this one of your gifts to your people?”
The king nodded. “Its use has been so distorted it’s no wonder you can’t recognize it for what it originally was.”
Then the king took Steward’s dented Quash and dirty sling. He untied the sling, separating it from the brass vessel. The king turned the vessel and placed it in Steward’s hands. Then he neatly folded the cloth lengthwise and laid it over Steward’s arm like a towel.
Steward looked down and it became clear.
“It’s a basin and a towel.” Was that all it was? The brass basin and the cloth towel were simple objects when presented this way, but Steward had never seen it.
The king looked back out toward Ascendia. “When I won back the kingdom for my people, I knew that the Phaedra’im would try to divide them and pit them against each other. Through rivalry and hatred, the Phaedra’im would have an avenue to regain access to my kingdom. So I gave to each person in my kingdom these two simple items—a brass bowl and a towel—to use to serve each other. It was a symbol of relationship, of hospitality, of care, and of compassion for one another. They could be used to wash and bind wounds, clean dirty faces, and cool thirsty mouths. When my people served one another, there was no opening for the Phaedra’im to re-enter my kingdom and kill my people.”
Steward ran his fingers across the rim of the Quash. “It’s not service I saw. It was anger, domination…murder.”
“When my people replace love for each other with love for whatever gives them authority and power over each other, they surrender all to the Phaedra’im.”
Astrid! Did the king remember her? “Not all of them have done so!”
“No, not all of them. Many still seek to use the basin and towel as they were meant to be used. And a few…” He paused to look at Steward. “A few, like Astrid, lead the people in revolt against the power of the ramp builders.”
Steward’s heart leapt. The king knew Astrid. Was he aware of their escape, and of his parting words and feelings for her? “Will I see her again?”
The king continued his gaze into Steward’s eyes. “Astrid is among my most valued followers. When she is needed, she will be summoned.”
That was all the hope he needed, but his questions continued. “Good king, how did your symbol meant for service become the tool that leads to such hatred and violence?”
The king looked back to the south. “From the south, there came news to Agapia—that was Ascendia’s name when it was founded—that the people of Petitzaros were building great castles with the help of the Phaedra. The people of Agapia had forgotten their history, so they did not know that the Phaedra were the descendants of the Phaedra’im. They invited a delegation of these so-called helpers to visit Agapia to aid them in their own building projects. During that visit, the Phaedra planted in the minds of the people the idea that the best place to live was high on the mountain and not in the valley. They began whispering doubts in the ears of the weaker that they would need to look out for themselves if they were to get up to the mountain. As distrust seeped into the community, a few of my people organized themselves and began building a ramp. Panic and resentment took over from there. All the Phaedra needed was to keep sowing doubt and distrust in everyone’s minds. Soon the Quash was used as a tool for carrying rocks, then for mortar…until they ran out of mortar.”
Steward’s stomach churned again at the thought of the crushers.
The king continued. “But not everyone wanted to build. Many were content in the valley and continued to use the basin and towel for their intended purposes. Those bent on building saw them as unproductive citizens and persecuted them. One day a fight broke out near the rock crusher. A worker fell into the machine, and the rest watched as the residue poured out. A quiet pact was made to begin rounding up the poorest and least productive of the land and use them when the mortar mix ran low. Just as a substitute, at first. Then more, as demand increased. Twice I sent an armed force to shut the crushers down, but the people opened them again as soon as my force left.”
How could people become so evil? What could ever stop them?
The king continued. “As I said, Steward, I cannot, I will not, force my people to obey me. I will not play the tyrant.” Then he turned and looked at Steward. “But I will also not stand by and watch them destroy themselves.”
Yes, there is a plan.
“What will you do?”
“That is for tomorrow. For now, we turn to Marikonia.”
Steward was anxious to know how to destroy the crushers, but the mention of Marikonia filled him with grief. Steward bowed his head. What he would give to escape reliving the pain of Claire’s death—but of course he could not.
“Steward, what did you see when you looked into this?” The king held up the Reflector that had plagued Steward during his days in Marikonia.
Steward looked away. “First I saw a horrible reflection of my own image. Then later a far too generous reflection.”
The king laid the Reflector aside. “Tell me of your time in the house of Tristin.”
“There were mirrors…Reflectors…everywhere. And the people were so plain when I looked at them, but in the Reflectors they were handsome and beautiful. Everything was distorted. Nothing looked as it should have. It was so confusing. In the end, I didn’t even know my own face.”
“Do you know it now?” The king picked up the object and handed it to him.
Steward was afraid to look.
What’s waiting for me in this, more pain? Distortion?
He hesitated then lifted it and looked at the image that peered back at him.
It was his own face! Steward wanted to throw out his arms and dance. “Yes, this is my face.”
“It always was, Steward.”
“But…” He shook his head. “I know what I saw. When I looked in the Reflector, I saw first an ogre and then a far more handsome man than I shall ever be.”
“Did you believe either of those images?”
Steward recounted the emotions that seemed to push him back and forth every time he looked into it. “No, not really. I always knew each was a distortion.”
The king swept his hand to the east. “Then you are far better off than those who dwell in Marikonia.”
Steward studied the Reflector and looked up at the king. “This was your third gift, wasn’t it?”
The king nodded. “I wanted my people to know, for all time, how much I love them. The Reflectors were to help them see the image they each bore—the image of an heir of this land and a beloved citizen of this empire. I wanted them to see and know my love for them and experience the Deep Peace as they recognized their own worth, value, and beauty. I wanted them to know joy and contentment in who they were as my children and never look elsewhere for it.”
“Then how did the images get so distorted?”
“Actually, the Reflectors in Marikonia are just as they were when I first gave them to the people there. What has changed are the eyes of those who gaze upon them.”
“But I saw the distortion. Were my eyes bad too?”
The king seemed to ignore his question. “Do you remember the man you encountered in the road to Marikonia?”
Steward rubbed his shoulder at the memory. “Encountered? You mean bowled over and nearly killed? Yes, I remember him. He retrieved my Reflector and gave it back to me.”
“And he placed doubt in your mind that you read back into the Reflector. When we doubt our own worth, we see that doubt reflected back to us, and it’s most often quite ugly. He caused you to doubt your worth, and when that was planted in your mind, you saw in the Reflector exactly what you saw in yourself.”
Steward thought back to the man’s cutting words. He realized that by the time he actually looked into the Reflector, he was already doubting his calling and his worth. “But what of the other experience, of seeing more than I was? I think I can see now that the distortion works both ways.”
“Yes, well said. Those that see themselves more highly than they ought to also reflect an image far nobler than what is real and true. They believe it with such conviction that they cause others to believe the distortion too. So the plain and homely Tristin becomes an icon…”
“…and the beautiful and innocent Claire is doomed to believe she is plain and homely.” Steward was crushed under his grief.
The king’s chest rose and fell from his own grief. “That is the extent to which the deception can become a reality. So many of those in the Light District are far less deserving of honor and admiration than the simple blacksmith who has believed the lie and lived the consequences.”
Steward’s hands drew into fists as he spat out his words. “The Light District is a farce. It is a phony place filled with fake, self-deceived, and sad people.”
“Perhaps, but as long as everyone around them believes the distortion, it becomes the reality, does it not?”
He hated the thought. But the king was right. It became reality for everyone there. “Yes, I guess it does. And if you try to unravel the deception and challenge the distortion…”
“People cannot, they will not, believe it. Instead, they will despair to the point of taking their own life.”
Steward fought back tears. He looked up at the king. “I am so sorry. She didn’t deserve to die. She…”
“She was taken too soon. But you are not to blame.” The king’s words brought a welcome relief to Steward’s spirit. He continued. “The idea of her false image was implanted into her from childhood. It is a masterful deception of the Phaedra’im.”
Masterful, and heinous.
“Can the people break free from it? As you say, it’s a powerful thing.”
“And so will be my response.”
Before Steward could ask the king what he meant, the king placed a hand on Steward’s shoulder. “Tell me about Pitcairn Moor.”
“Bloody awful place!” Steward shot back. “I almost forgot about Dunston. Who is he…what is he?”
The king laughed, a rich, glorious sound that drew out Steward’s laughter too. It felt good to laugh after so much pain.
“Dunston is one of a long line of Interpreters. They have been part of my kingdom for generations. They live far in the depths of the Fungle Woods and seldom come out.” The king’s face turned somber. “But during the battle at Kildrachan Plain, the Interpreters played a critical role. A small band of the very best of them gained access to the Tohu Wa-Bohu, and they overheard the plans of the Phaedra’im. They fled to tell our generals, but they were caught before they crossed the Golden River. The Phaedra’im tortured them without mercy, but they would not tell of our plans. Only one escaped the torture and lived to carry the Phaedra’im’s plans to us. His information turned the battle for us.”
“Dunston?”
The king nodded. “He still carries the scars of the torture and the pain of losing his comrades. When I needed an Interpreter to meet you at Pitcairn Moor, he was the first to volunteer.”
“But why didn’t I see the stairs without the spectacles? Dunston told me I would learn to see the kingdom the way you wanted me to see it, but I never did—not without the spectacles.”
“It was a great deal to ask for such a short journey. The distortion is too strong. It takes time and great commitment to see through it to the truth of the kingdom. But you see it now, and from this time onward you must see it always. Do you understand?”
The king sounded so…urgent.
Steward swallowed hard. Did he? “I think so.”
“Then let us complete our discussion and consider your time in Seudomartus.” The king walked to the farthest northeastern corner of the palace roof.
Steward looked out at the land where so much had happened. Where should he start? “There is so much to say. I heard such stories of truths and myths, of writings and heresies. My head was spinning with questions, challenges, and debates. So many people have so many opinions and views and ideas and interpretations. Some believed in you but most did not. Some encouraged my journey, and others rebuked me for it. Some questioned the existence of truth, and others thirsted for it.”
He closed his eyes, seeing again the place, the people, and the events. “So many falsehoods, so much deception, so many searching hearts—and so much uncertainty.” He opened his eyes and met the king’s gaze. “And all in places called the Halls of Wisdom and the Sacred Mount.”
It all still amazed him. “People knew about you, but no one knew you. Many knew that you spoke once, but no one cared that you speak now. Many worshipped the Transmitter, but no one worshipped you!”
“Did you see any of the Phaedra in Seudomartus?”
Steward had never considered it before, but now that the king mentioned it, he realized that he hadn’t. There hadn’t been even one Phaedra in all Seudomartus.
“No, actually. They were nowhere.” He looked to the king, his eyes wide open. “Why weren’t they there?”
“Oh, they were.” The king began a slow pace as he talked. “The Phaedra have realized their greatest and most compelling victory in Seudomartus. So complete is their domination of that land that they need not even appear. Every ear in the city has been filled with their lies, and every heart is wholly won over to their cause.”
“Except for the Starr Hill Faithful.” Obed, Zanon. Such courageous people.
“Yes, except for them. The Starr Hill Faithful have been holding out against the Phaedra for centuries, but their power was waning when you came into the city. Your presence brought the opposition to its peak and caused the destruction of one of the last Transmitters in the land.”
“After I was shot, the pursuers destroyed the Transmitter?”
“No, the Starr Hill Faithful destroyed it. They felt it was better to destroy it than to have it taken by the mob and be subjected to the scrutiny and ridicule of the learned of Seudomartus. They would have used it to prove that the king was a myth and the Transmitter was but a deluded superstition.”
“But couldn’t you speak to the people of Seudomartus through it?”
The king stopped. “Steward, the Transmitter was my fourth and greatest gift to my people after the victory at Kildrachan Plain. It was a symbol of my heart’s desire to speak directly to my people, that they may know my will for them and never doubt my love and devotion to their well-being. I gave a Transmitter to every person in my kingdom. They were directed to use it whenever they wanted to hear my voice. In faith, they were to set it on a flat surface and orient the front of it to the north. Then, moving the crystal on the arm in a clockwise direction, they were to wait and listen for my voice. I would speak to them when the crystal was aligned with the exact direction of my palace.”
“It sounds like a lot of work.”
“It was, and that was the point. You see, I would be happy to speak to my people at any time and in any form. But I wanted them to seek my voice and believe me when they heard it. So you see, it is the faith of the user that activates the Transmitter, not the device itself.”
“Then…without faith the Transmitter remains silent.”
“Like a great paperweight.” The king shot Steward a smile.
Steward chuckled at the comment. And when he thought about the five people he had met, he had to admit they each would have treated it like a paperweight if they ever actually possessed one.
But I heard the king speak through it.
“So if the owner believes, you will speak?”
“For generations I spoke to my people through the Transmitters. Young and old, rich and poor—everyone could hear me. Then the deceivers came, and the focus shifted from faith to the device. They convinced the people of Seudomartus that the magic was in the Transmitter. So people began to worship the device, and they conjured up all kinds of stories and myths about its powers. When it stopped transmitting my voice, they began to hear other voices from other sources. Soon the distortions became the new revelations. Distorted doctrines enshrined false teachings, and misguided devotees started following every voice that tickled their ears. False teachers and charlatans sprang up everywhere, and without my truth everyone claimed their own form of truth.”
“The Halls of Wisdom were built as a place for these false teachings?”
“Not at first. The Halls were built to celebrate the open discussion of what I shared with my people. And the Sacred Mount was a place of worship and of teaching my ways and commands. But when the great distortion began, faithless men and women overtook the Halls and exchanged the truth of my words for their own cleverness. And on the Sacred Mount…” The king paused, as if in pain. He caught his breath and continued in labored speech. “On the Mount, my cathedrals were once places where my truth was taught, where justice was honored, and every voice carried my words of freedom, joy, and peace. But my cathedrals are now havens of every kind of deceptive form of truth and beauty. And, worst of all, they used my name to legitimize their shameful ways.”
Steward sat silent. He recalled Philandra’s chambers and his confrontations with Nagas the Skeptic, Mattox the Great, and Hambry the Pious. Supposedly the wisest and holiest people in the land. All deceived.
And Obed…dear Obed…
The king placed a hand on his head. “Obed died that you might see this day.”
“I miss him.”
“Many dear ones in my kingdom have died that you might see this day.”
That stung. Why did people die for his journey?
Steward met the king’s gaze. “You speak of people giving their lives that I might complete this journey. You speak of your own response to the evil in your kingdom, and that my work is not yet done. Can you tell me, your majesty, what all of this means?”
“Yes, it is time. Come with me.” He led Steward back down the staircase and into the throne room. Once there, he turned and faced Steward.
“On the day you were promised to your mother and father in Aiden Glenn, they were told that you would stand in the throne room of the king and be given the meaning of your name and the purpose of your birth. That time has now come.”
Steward’s heart pounded in his chest as he awaited the words he had dreamt about his entire life.
The king walked to the enormous cabinet that ran from the floor to the ceiling of the throne room. Opening the doors, he took out an object that Steward could not quite make out. As the king turned back to him, Steward watched the throne room fill with people. Soon he was the center of attention of a great assembly.
The king stood and addressed the crowd. “Since the foundations of the new kingdom, we have awaited the coming of the one who would liberate our people from the oppression of the Phaedra’im. This is our day of celebration, for the Liberator has come.”
Steward looked around.
It must be Zedekai. Or is some other great warrior about to be introduced?
But the king did not look at anyone else.
The king looked at him.
“Steward of Aiden Glenn, your name carries only one meaning, and with that meaning comes your one purpose in life.” The king held out what he had taken from the cabinet. It was a magnificent sword and scabbard, even greater than the one worn by Zedekai. The king presented it to Steward. “The meaning of your name is warrior, and from this day forth you will be known as Warrior Steward, Keeper of the Truth.”
The king strapped the great sword on Steward’s waist, and the entire room broke out in cheers and applause. Steward had no idea what to say.
Warrior? Me?
The king spoke to Steward but also to the assembly. “Steward, when I gave my gifts to my people, they were to be used and treasured. In one sense, the Phaedra you encountered on your first day out of Aiden Glenn was correct. Your name does mean to care for everything you have. What they failed to tell you is that everything you have is a gift from me. This includes these four precious gifts. But with the return of the Phaedra, these gifts are now in peril. Your journey has introduced you to the distortions and lies of the enemy. You have seen for yourself how the gifts I have given my people have been used against them. You have experienced their wrath and known their hatred. No longer can these gifts be taken for granted, but they must be fought for and won back from the deception that has engulfed them. And you will lead the charge to restore them to my people and reclaim my kingdom. That is the purpose of your life, and your time has come.”
As the crowd cheered, the king escorted Steward out of the throne room and led him down a long staircase.
“Dear king, I don’t understand. I am no warrior. I cannot wield a sword or fight the Phaedra’im. You cannot place your trust in me to restore your kingdom!” He was pleading now.
The king didn’t speak until they reached the stables. Then he turned to Steward. “You will not enter this battle alone. Come with me and I will tell you the plans. Do not fear, Warrior Steward.”
The king mounted his horse and summoned Steward to mount the steed that had been prepared for him. The two rode toward the southwest as the afternoon sun burned bright above the distant hills. They crossed vast fields of wheat and rode into the orchards, through row after row of apple trees. They raced along ancient routes through the dense forest and galloped along the crest of a steep ridge. They rode for several hours, and it took all Steward’s might to keep up with the king. As early evening came upon them, they rode out into a large clearing. Ahead lay a small village of tents set up around a roaring fire. As Steward and the king approached, several servants came out to take their mounts.
Steward climbed off his horse, tired and sore and out of breath. “Where are we?”
“Look for yourself.” The king pointed out across the large clearing as the last bit of light faded into darkness.
In the distance, Steward could hear the sound of a mighty rushing river, and as he looked across the vast open space ahead of them, he knew where they were.
“Kildrachan Plain.”
~~~~~~~~~
Walter checked his watch as Anna read the last words and set the book down. Three more hours is about all they had. They would have to be diligent. There was more to be done when the story was finished.
Anna stretched. “Well, that explains a lot of things. Now we know what the Quash was for.”
Alex stood and joined her in a stretch. “Four gifts, four lands, and four distortions. It’s all coming together.”
“And four of us.” Merideth leaned back. “I think Dad has us right where he wants us.”
Reed turned to Walter. “This is an incredible story when you begin to see all the pieces come together. How long had Dad been thinking about it?”
Walter held back a smile. This was a discovery that he couldn’t wait for them to make. “I believe he started writing the story a few days after he received word of his ailing health. It was about that time that he began to talk to me about the importance of legacies.”
Merideth raised her hand. “Wait, if Dad started writing this that soon after his diagnosis, then he had not yet heard of Mel Sidek’s death…”
“…or the inheritance.” Alex’s expression was priceless.
Walter paused for a moment to enjoy it. “That’s right. Your father wrote a good part of this story before he ever knew there would be an inheritance.”
He let that new realization set in.
Reed rose and walked to Walter. “Then…it really isn’t about the money.”
Walter shook his head.
Anna was fixated on the book. “Walter, did the story change after Dad found out about the Sidek inheritance?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I doubt that it did. Your father had a clear sense of what he wanted to leave each of you. He took seriously the importance of a legacy that would live in each of you far after he…and your mother…were gone. I don’t think it mattered to him if the legacy had dollars attached to it or not.”
Merideth pushed her fingers through her thick red hair. “I have to say, knowing that Dad wrote this without the inheritance in mind…well, it’s just amazing. It changes the way I understand it.”
Alex cocked his head at her. “I agree, but I’d like to hear why it changes things for you?”
“I guess I was tying much of this to Dad’s concern that we would blow the money. And he’s gotten his point across about that. Okay, he’s spoken to me through this story about as powerfully as anything or anyone ever has. But to know that his motivation really was about how we lived our lives and not just about how we spent the inheritance…”
“It is pretty overwhelming. Yes, that’s what I was thinking too.” Alex looked at Walter, his expression still bearing witness to his astonishment. “Walter, are you telling us that we would have still been reading this story if there had been no financial inheritance at all?”
There it was. Their father’s heart fully exposed.
Walter nodded. “Actually, for Sam, this was your inheritance. The money just added urgency to the task.”
“Forty million dollars adds a lot of urgency.” Reed smiled.
“Indeed it does, and your father felt the weight of every penny of it. He was well into the story when the word of the inheritance came. To your question, Anna, I really don’t think the story changed. But he wrote with more urgency to be sure the story was completed before his death. And it was a good thing he did. I helped him type the last ten pages when he was too weak to sit at the computer. I was terrified he would ask me to finish it for him.”
Anna’s eyes widened. “Did he?”
“Luckily, no. I write great briefs and can bang out a mean subpoena, but I would be lost if I had to finish such an epic. When I typed the last words, I was more thankful than Sam that it was done.” Walter chuckled. “And I am anxious for you to hear those words. We aren’t far now, so why don’t we continue?”
Anna stood. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to continue reading.”
They all agreed, and after fresh drinks and new positions in the living room chairs and couch, they continued the story.