A series of cliffs ran from the bottom of Starr Hill to the edge of Blue Heron Lake, defining the western border of Seudomartus. The cliffs were inaccessible…nearly. At one point, they parted, creating a seam that continued to the lake’s edge. The seam stopped twenty feet in the air, forming a grotto beneath it. Since the siege on Starr Hill, this had become the secret gathering place of the Faithful.
Huddled around the Transmitter, Zedekai and the king’s warriors waited with Zanon and a gathering of about twenty others for directions from the king. The Transmitter began its glow, and soon the rich tones of the king’s voice could be heard.
“My Faithful of Seudomartus, the time is short. Steward, Astrid, and Dunston will soon be with you, and you have only a few hours to begin to liberate Seudomartus.”
Eyes darted around as heaviness hung in the air.
Zanon stepped forward. “Tell us, dear king, how we are to accomplish so great a task in so little time.”
The Phaedra’s greatest stronghold could not be liberated in a few years, much less hours. Even the Faithful’s intense faith in the power of the king could not shake the doubt from their minds.
Zanon folded his hands in front of him. “And with so few resources. Even with Steward, Astrid, Dunston, and these mighty warriors, we are no match for the distortion and deceit that has suffocated Seudomartus for decades.”
Zanon stepped back, his head hung. “Good king, forgive my lack of faith. It’s just that we have tried for so long to bring your truth to this place, and I fear that we have less to show for our labor now than the day we began. To think that we can complete the liberation in a few hours seems…”
“Impossible?” The king’s commanding voice rang from the Transmitter. His question hung in the air. No one dared reply.
The king went on. “The liberation of Seudomartus will not come as a tidal wave, but as a trickle through the smallest hole in the side of a dam. It will be so small no one will pay it heed. But it will grow larger and larger until it breaks the dam into pieces and truth flows again like a mighty river through the streets of Seudomartus. What we do in a few hours will start the trickle.”
Zanon felt his confidence returning. “Tell us how we are to accomplish that. Are there any in the land who have not fallen under the distortions of the Phaedra?”
The assembly was quiet. Then one older lady spoke up. “Only the children.”
The king’s voice continued. “You are correct. And so, the liberation of Seudomartus will start with the children. Zanon, do you understand my strategy?”
“Yes, yes I think so. The youth of Seudomartus are free to attain their education however they wish until they turn eighteen. Then they all must enter the National Academy. From ages five to eighteen, many attend schools run by teachers trained in the Halls of Wisdom or the Sacred Mount, so the great distortion is instilled in them at an early age. However, some attend schools run by local communities or are taught within their families. These learn of you, dear king. These children are the hope for the future of Seudomartus.”
“You have spoken well. Now, Zanon, assemble all youth from ages fifteen to eighteen years who believe in me. Bring them to this place at once. I will meet you all here within the hour.”
As the king’s voice faded, Zanon gave the charge. “Go now, at once.”
The Faithful hurried away to carry out the king’s request.
When Steward, Astrid, and Dunston arrived at the grotto, what Steward saw made him frown. Children? What are they doing here?
Sitting in neat rows, ten across and six deep, were all the children from fifteen to eighteen from the Starr Hill community.
Their eyes grew wide as the warrior band arrived. Steward dismounted and walked before them. Steward didn’t speak but went to the Transmitter and held it in his hands. He waited.
No sound came from it.
He waited a little longer then looked up at the children and smiled. “Have faith. The king always speaks to those who believe.”
Even as he spoke, the Transmitter began to glow, giving off its warmth and brightness. Steward set it down, and the king’s voice rang out. “Steward, Zanon, Astrid, Dunston, and Zedekai. Look before you. This is the future of Seudomartus.”
Steward studied the faces of the sixty or so young men and women seated on the ground. Their faces showed a mixture of enthusiasm and fear, confidence and caution. They looked at him through wide, admiring eyes.
The king continued. “Instruct these young warriors in the battle that lies ahead of them. Teach them how to fight using the truth as their weapon. Show them how to see the real kingdom, how to recognize the great distortion, and where to launch their campaign against the evil that has befallen this land. Teach them, Steward.”
Steward stood in front of the assembly. “Do you know what is being asked of you? Do you understand the great distortion, and the power that is in place over the people of this city? Ask me questions if you do not understand.”
No one moved, but Steward could see that they all had questions. Finally, a strong-looking, black-haired boy of eighteen stood up.
“Warrior Steward, why doesn’t the king bring his mighty army here and run the leaders through?” He acted out the stabbing motion of a sword as he spoke. “His army could sweep across the city and reclaim it in a day. He could establish his rule here again and end the great distortion.”
The boy remained standing, looking to Steward and then to the Transmitter.
Steward unsheathed his sword to the gasps of the children. “You mean a sword like this one?”
The boy nodded, a bit shaken by the display.
“Not long ago I stood in the throne room of the king, in the king’s own presence. I asked him the very same question, not just about Seudomartus, but about Marikonia, Ascendia, and Petitzaros. I wondered why he allowed so much evil to take place when he had the power to end it and establish his kingdom.” Steward lowered his voice. “And do you know what the king said to me?”
Every eye was on him, including those of the adults. Even Astrid and Dunston leaned forward as they waited to hear the king’s response.
“The king told me that he had already won the great victory for us, a victory that cost him the life of his very son.”
“Kildrachan Plain,” one girl said.
Steward nodded. “Yes, the great battle of Kildrachan Plain. From that time on, the king trusted his people to choose the good way and to drive out the Phaedra from their midst. He had given his people the power to remain victorious over the Phaedra. He gave them precious gifts, including the Transmitter, that they might hear his voice and follow him. But in every land, his people chose to listen to the Phaedra and turn away from the king. And nowhere have they done so more completely than here in Seudomartus.”
He met the boy’s gaze. “Now to your question. The king will not force his subjects to believe in him or follow his ways. He will not play the tyrant. He will only point them to the victory on Kildrachan Plain and call them back to himself.”
Astrid walked up next to Steward. “And the king will send emissaries, prophets, and warriors to tell his people that they belong to him and that he cares for them. But he will always leave the choice to them.”
Steward let his gaze travel across the faces of the children. “Do you understand?”
They nodded.
A red-headed girl seated in front of Steward raised her hand.
“Why don’t we set the Transmitter in the great market square so that everyone can hear the king and know that he is real and speaking to them?”
Steward smiled at her question. “Why not, indeed? It seems so simple, that if everyone heard the king speaking, they would believe in him, accept his words, and desire to seek him through the Transmitter. But sadly, that is not the case. So great is the distortion that people will cease to believe their own ears if their minds are already made up. Many who lead the distortion have heard the king speak directly to them, but their own arrogance or fear has allowed the distortion to warp that experience and fade the memories of life when the king ruled this land. No, I’m afraid it will take much more than one Transmitter to reestablish the king as the authority in Seudomartus. But remember, every heart in the land yearns to hear his voice. They just need to be set free to do so. And when they do, their hearts will be changed.”
Another girl stood up. “Can such strong leaders as those on the Sacred Mount and in the Halls of Wisdom really have their hearts changed? Even by the truth?”
A bright child. Steward looked to Astrid. “I think this is your story to tell.” He stepped aside to give her center stage.
Astrid told the children the entire story of Ascendia’s liberation and Cassandra’s great change of heart. By the time she had finished, the children were cheering and slapping each other on the shoulders, celebrating the victory over the crushers.
“This will be easy then!” one boy shouted.
That comment brought Dunston to his feet. He stepped forward as Steward quieted the children. “This is my dear friend Dunston. He is an Interpreter and he works for the king. He has saved my life twice, and he has something to tell you about the challenge that is ahead of you.”
The children focused their attention on Dunston.
Dunston curled a lip at the children. “Easy? Easy, you say? Let me tell you another story. This one is about my people and the price they paid at Kildrachan Plain.”
Dunston took the children through the horror that his people faced at the hands of the Phaedra’im. He told of his escape then showed them the scars on his hands, his side, and his feet. By the time he was finished, the place was silent. The children sat speechless, dazed.
Zedekai came to stand beside Dunston. “My friend does not tell you his story to fill you with fear, but to fill you with the awareness of the challenges you will face. Astrid has told you of the victory that can be won, and Dunston has helped you see the battle that must be fought for such a victory.”
One young man of great stature stood. “How can we expect to win this battle when there is evil everywhere? How can we even hope for victory when all we can see is distortion and despair? How can we believe in victory when we can’t see it anywhere?”
Most of the children nodded.
Steward looked again to Dunston. “My friend, I think our young inquisitor needs to look at the world through your very special spectacles.”
Dunston fished the pair from his vest pocket. He walked over to the lad and placed them in his hands. “The world, the real world, is not as you have seen it. The great distortion has deceived even your eyes. You must learn to see what the king sees. You must train your eyes to look with truth and cut through the distortion. You must see the kingdom that is right in front of you.” As he said this, he slid the glasses on the young boy’s nose.
“Yikes!” The boy grabbed the glasses and pulled them down. He looked around, wild-eyed, then he slid them back on and cried out. “What a splendid sight! Is this for real?” He danced around and looked at everyone through the lenses.
The rest of the children ran to him, pleading for their turn to see through the magic lenses. One by one, each had their turn, until everyone saw and understood.
As the children sat back down in their places, Steward asked, “Tell me what you saw through Mr. Dunston’s spectacles.”
One girl started. “Everyone was so bright and happy and…” “Good. That’s it!” said another. “Everyone and everything looked so good.”
They all agreed, adding a host of other words to describe the wonderful world they saw through the lenses.
Dunston quieted them. “That is the world of the king. It is the way he created it, and it’s the world that he is looking to us to restore. When you are in Seudomartus, you must look for this world and see it right there in the midst of the chaos and distortion, for only when you see it can you lead others to it.”
“Tell me,” Steward asked, “what did you feel when you were looking through the glasses?”
Again, several voices shouted out words to describe their feelings.
“Warm.”
“Happy.”
“Tingly.”
“Restful.”
“Content.”
Steward smiled. “That feeling is what the king calls the Deep Peace, and it is his gift to you. As you free the people of Seudomartus from the great distortion, you will give them this gift on behalf of the king.”
Again, heads nodded as the task ahead began to take shape in the minds of the children.
Then the king’s voice rang out from the Transmitter. “Well said, Warrior Steward. The Deep Peace is for everyone in my kingdom, except the Phaedra. They relinquished it forever in their revolt against me. Now they wish to take it back by force.”
Those words jolted Steward’s mind back to the urgency of his mission. “Great king, the Phaedra are gathering. You’ve asked us to stop them before they reach the Ancient Fortress. But how are we to make such a journey in time if I am to lead this crusade in Seudomartus?”
“You are not to lead this crusade. That is left to another, isn’t it, Zanon? You are one of the few remaining faithful from the last campaign. The success of this campaign falls to you—and it may be our last.”
Steward looked at Zanon. He nodded and stepped forward.
“Yes, there was a prior campaign much like this one. At a time of widespread confusion, just before the great distortion took full hold on the leaders of Seudomartus, the king gathered the brightest youth in the land and charged us with the task of speaking truth into the chaos. It was known as The Calling. We were to be among the most learned of the land, and our voices were to win the day in the great debates on the Sacred Mount and in the Halls of Wisdom. It was through reason and faith that we were to be victorious in the name of the king and for the sake of the kingdom.” Zanon paused. His breathing was labored, and he fought to find the words.
Astrid urged him on. “Zanon, tell us what happened to the others. Are you the only one left from the campaign?”
Zanon shook his head. “No, all of us who were called that day are still here in Seudomartus. But I am the only one left among the Starr Hill Faithful.”
“The only one?” Steward couldn’t believe it. “What happened to the others?”
“It happened in all kinds of ways, really. When we started through the National Academy, some of the weaker ones were won over by the eloquence of their teachers and soon deserted us. A few became our greatest opponents, challenging us at every turn, denying the existence of a campaign or a Calling…or a king.”
“Mattox.” Steward spat out the name.
Zanon nodded. “Several others kept true to the campaign, and after school they were appointed to important positions where they would have a voice and influence. We thought our campaign was well in hand. But one by one, the Phaedra whispered into their ears…and they listened. One became too distracted by her own ambitions and forgot about her calling. Three went off to start a new school, believing through the Phaedra that they had found a deeper truth than the truth of the king. Some tried to speak out, but when they were strongly challenged and their position threatened, they caved in and conformed to the more popular teachings of the day. A few left Seudomartus altogether to escape the growing oppression. In the end, even our own teacher slowly fell away, and today he walks among those on the Sacred Mount looking for truth everywhere except where it may be found.”
Zanon paused. The weight of the memory overcame him. “Within ten years of the Calling and the launch of the campaign, only three of us remained faithful to the call. But we were labeled fanatics and lost our influence and voice in the community. We were forced to speak in the streets and hold meetings outside the city, and that’s when we found Starr Hill.”
Steward offered a hand to his shoulder. “And what of the other two?”
Zanon wiped tears from his eyes. “They paid the ultimate price for their courage, and both fell on Starr Hill to make the way for your escape.”
Steward dropped his hand, stunned. His life had been bought with a great price, and as he thought of those two brave souls fighting for his freedom, he saw his dear friend Obed falling to the ground with an arrow in his back. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind.
The king’s voice brought him back. “Zanon, you have fought the good fight, and now I must count on you to lead this last crusade through the lives of these young ones gathered here. You must not let what happened to your comrades happen to them.”
Zanon held out his hands, his eyes flashing with despair. “But how can I do that? The great distortion was only just arising when we were called. Now it is fully entrenched and has its stranglehold on every aspect of life. If we did not triumph then, how can we do so now?”
Just then, one of the young girls seated in the second row stood and, in a strong voice, cried out, “We will not let you down!”
Then a boy in the next row stood. “We will not let you down!”
Then a third followed, and a fourth. Within moments, every one of the children was standing and shouting, “We will not let you down!”
Zanon stood wide-eyed at the display of courage and allegiance.
Steward smiled then raised his hands to quiet the children. “The campaign begins today. Each of you will be educated to lead the revolution. Remember, listen to Zanon and learn from him. Keep your Transmitter close and listen every day to the king. He will speak to you whenever you seek him in faith. Encourage each other and support the weaker ones among you. And every day, be aware of the battle you have entered. Keep your weapons sharp and your minds clear and keen. The future of Seudomartus depends upon you. Now stand and go in the name of the king whom you serve.”
The children all stood straight and tall, and the king said, “You are my hands and my feet, my voice and my heart. You are the keepers of truth in a land of lies. I send you out with the power and authority of the king. And in honor of one who has been set free and who gave his life that you might see this day, I hereby commission you for this great calling and name you the Army of Obed.”
Steward’s heart swelled with both joy and deep grief. Astrid grabbed his hand as emotion washed over him. He whispered to the king, “Thank you, my Lord.”
Zedekai called out, “Warrior Steward, if your work here is done, we must be off or the Phaedra will certainly beat us across Kildrachan Plain.”
“Yes, you’re right, we must be gone. But there remains one task for me to do before I leave Seudomartus. Astrid, Dunston—you and Zedekai must leave immediately and ride for the Plain. I will join you before you reach the end of the Fungle Woods.”
“Not again. You’re going on your own? Nonsense!” Dunston jutted out his chin.
The king spoke, “Dunston, my faithful servant, thank you for your care of young Steward. But he is right. He must do this alone. Ride ahead as he instructed you.”
Dunston and Astrid nodded, and, with Zedekai and the king’s warriors, the band was off, charging out along the cliffs and down the lakeshore to the path that led from Seudomartus into the heart of the Fungle Woods.
Steward embraced Zanon and gave his blessing to all the gathered. “The Deep Peace of the king to you and to all of Seudomartus!” So saying, he mounted his horse and galloped off toward the city.
Steward rode along the short road to the city. His only chance at completing his mission would be surprise and shock, so he unsheathed his sword and held it high as he rounded the corner and galloped headlong into the busy courtyard of Seudomartus.
People shrieked and jumped out of his way, some screaming for the authorities. Horses spooked by the charging rider and overturned carts. Sparks flew as the shoes of Steward’s horse smashed against the stones of the courtyard. He passed the Halls of Wisdom and the Archives and soon was onto the promenade. He raced past an angry pedestrian, who darted out of his way just in time. Not far behind, a band of armed men were mounting up to give chase.
Ahead of him, Steward could see the grand staircase to the Sacred Mount. He held his breath, sheathed his sword, then grabbed the reins as he and his horse started the long gallop up the stone steps. He urged his horse on, even as it slipped on the smooth granite and marble surfaces. Up and up they charged, through the angry onlookers and past the elite of the city.
Finally, they crested the top of the Sacred Mount and fought their way past several men who had waited to seize them. Steward pressed his horse on, galloping across the open square, around the Temple of Temperance and, finally, to the row of majestic houses of the teachers of the Sacred Mount. Steward jumped from his horse, grabbed his satchel, and bolted through the door of the third house.
As he stormed into the living quarters, a white-haired man looked up then ran for the door.
“Brauchus! Wait, don’t run. It’s me, Steward of Aiden Glenn, Obed’s companion.”
The man stopped short and turned back.
“It cannot be. You died on Starr Hill, as did my dear student Obed. I don’t know who you are, but if you came to kill me, do it quickly, for I have little to live for anyway.”
“Brauchus, I didn’t die on Starr Hill. The king saved me. I’ve seen him, and he has sent me back to Seudomartus with a gift for you. Please, I have only moments before they’ll be at your door.”
Brauchus scowled, unconvinced. “Obed died because of your stories of the king. It appears I shall do the same.”
“Brauchus, I know who you are. You were chosen by the king to lead the first campaign—The Calling—to recover the city just prior to the great distortion. Zanon did not name you, but I knew it all the same.”
The old man’s face contorted, shame and guilt washed across it. “Yes, you are correct. The king counted on me, and I failed him. And now, I can hardly believe he exists at all.”
Steward reached in his satchel and pulled the Transmitter from it. He placed it in Brauchus’s hands. “If you believe, even the slightest bit, you will hear his voice again.”
Brauchus held the vessel up, turning it around in his hands and handling it like an old familiar friend. “I did believe once. But this place has extinguished every last ounce of faith from me.”
“I don’t believe that. Obed was your best pupil, yet he believed. Before he died, he heard the king through this very vessel. Obed gave his life that I might complete my journey and return to give this gift to you. In his memory, and for the sake of the kingdom, Brauchus, you must believe!”
Angry voices echoed outside.
Please, Brauchus, please believe.
The Transmitter began to glow, just a glimmer at first, but then it brightened into a radiance that filled the room and spilled out through the windows.
“Brauchus, my old friend, I have missed you.” The king’s voice sounded from the Transmitter.
“My king!” Brauchus fell to his knees and sobbed.
A loud knock sounded at the door, followed by an angry voice. “Teacher Brauchus, we must search your house. We are looking for a fugitive. Please open the door or we must break it down.”
Steward lifted Brauchus to his feet. “Brauchus, I must go, but know that Zanon, your young follower, is leading the second campaign. He needs your help. This is your time, this is your chance to complete your calling, this is…your salvation.”
Brauchus looked up through his tears. “I will not fail the king again. Now run, Steward, down through my cellar and through the tunnel that leads under the back courtyard. It opens out beyond the garden, but from there you will be on your own. Run, and believe that we will bring the truth to Seudomartus.”
As Steward ran for the cellar door, Brauchus called to him. “The Deep Peace of the king to you, young Steward!” Then the door to the teacher’s home came crashing in.
Steward made his way through the damp cellar, struggling to see his way. The tunnel was dim, but the footing was firm, so Steward eased his way a step at a time.
Dear Brauchus, I hope you’re all right.
Ahead he saw a glow—the evening light from the edge of the courtyard. He emerged, looking for any sign of pursuers.
Quiet.
He relished the moment of peace. All he had with him was his sword and satchel. He worked his way around the edges of the garden until he could see the Fungle Woods across an open field.
In moments, it would be dark. He waited. Then, with dusk concealing his movements, he wound his way down through the meadows along the southeastern edge of Blue Heron Lake and hurried into the Fungle Woods.